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01

''^Mt'i^'Jfa^iiingi/f, a-'CcUegi' in ' t^f(S.'€o!6ny''

CAREY, LEA AND BLANCHARD
Have lately published new editions of the following works
by Mr. Cooper :
THE SPY : a Tale of the Neutral Ground.
THE PIONEERS, or the Sources ofthe Susquehanna : a descrip
tive Tale.
THE PILOT : a Tale of the Sea.
LIONEL LINCOLN ; or the Leaguer pf Boston.
THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS : a Narrative of 1757.
THE PRAIRIE : a Tale.
THE RED ROVER ; a Tale.
THE WEPT OF WISH-TON-WISH: a Tale.
THE WATER WITCH: or the Skimmer of the Seas.
THE BRAVO : a Tale.
NOTIONS OF THE AMERICANS: Picked up by a Travel
ling Bachelor.
THE HEIDENMAUER ; or the Benedictines. A Legend of
the Rhine.
THE HEADSMAN ; or the Abbaye des Vignerons : a Tale.
THE MONIKINS : Edited by the Author of " The Spy."
PRECAUTION : a Novel, revised and corrected.

CAREY, LEA AND BLANCHARD
HAVE LATELY PUBLISHED
SKETCHES OF SWITZERLAND. By J. Fennimore Coopek,
Author of " The Spy," &c. &c. in 2 vols. 12mo.
A RESIDENCE IN FRANCE, with an Excursion up the Rhine,
and a Second Visit to Switzerland. By the same Author. In
2 vols ISrao. --.-¦-
"As we take up the pen to note do^Vh-oirtimpressioriSjOf these
volumes, we feel as though we had just returned from aiKSxcUrsion
in Switzerland, with a companion fujj.;'ta, cverflb'Vvii)g,.witli'!^nf.i»-
tense love of nature, and an exqyi^iie.^^'ye for the pictctr.aBqq'e.
We cannot give our thanks and praisg-ji rnipr^ c^jdialjemjillasisfi-
but if we could, we would ; for so muBii'pJeasu'^d'a're'we irfdijfited
to Mr. Cooper. Afler the dull fiats and dreary wastes 'of T'eading,
of which there is abundance in all seasons, how "refreshing" (the
word is unavoidable) to ascend with such a guide into the raoun
tainous regions of literature. To those who are at all acquainted
with the bold and vivid style of Mr. Cooper's descriptions of natural
marvels and magnificence — and to whom are his original powers
of imagery and expression unknown ? — we need only say, that
these powers have been unsparingly employed in the present vo
lumes. It is only necessary to romind the reader of what Mr.
Cooper can do, when his enthusiasm is kindled, to bid him recollect
that the scene of the author's excursions is Switzerland. Upon
such a subject as the scenery of Switzerland, how could Mr. Cooper
fail to write with infinite freshness, grace, energy, and poetic ar
dour. Many of the letters moreover (for the work is in that form)
have the advantage of being written under the immediate feelings
excited by a first, unfading view of the beauties and wonders de
scribed. In short, this is just the work for every body to read and
every body to relish.
Mr. Cooper has attempted, in these letters, little beyond descrip
tions of external nature. Switzerland, as he remarks, enjoying
probably the sublimest as well as the most diversified beauties of
this sort that exist on the globe, would seem to have a claim to be
treated sui generis. Man, says the writer, appears alraost to sink
to a secondary rank in such a country. We feel all the force of
this remark, and are quite content that Mr. Cooper should have
confined the range of his genius to the higher ground. He has
found room and reward there, much as it had been described be
fore." — Court Journal.

GLEANINGS

IN EUROPE.

»<=<*"

MbvJ^

BY AN AMERICAN.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

PHILADELPHIA :
CAREY, LEA & BLANCHARD.
1837.

Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1836,
by Caret, Lea &. Blanchard, in the Clerk's Office of the District
Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.

FRANCE.

LETTER I.

To James E. De Kat, Esquire.
We have not only had Mr. Canning in Paris, buf
Sir Walter Scott has suddenly appeared among us.
The arrival of the Great Unknown, or, indeed, of
any little Unknown from England, would be an
event to throw all the reading clubs at home,
into a state of high moral and poetical excitement.
We are true village lionizers. As the professors of
the Catholic religion are noforiously more addicted
to yielding faith to miraculous interventions, in the
remoter dioceses, than in Rome itself ; as loyalty is
always more zealous in a colony, than in a court ; as
fashions are more exaggerated in a province, than in
a capital, and men are more prodigious to every one
else, than their own valets, so do we throw the ha-
VoL. II. 2

14 FRANCE.
I
loes of a vast ocean around the honoured heads of
the celebrated men of this eastern hemisphere. This,
perhaps, is the natural course of things, and is as
unavoidable as that the sun shall hold the earth
within the influence of its attraction, until matters
shall be reversed by the earth's becoming the larger
and more glorious orb of the two. Not so in Paris.
Here men of every gradation of celebrity, from Na
poleon down to the Psalmanazar of the day, are so
very common, that one scarcely turns round in the
streets, to look at them. Delicate and polite atten
tions, however, fall as much to the share of reputa
tion, here, as in any other country, and perhaps
more so, as respects literary men, though there is so
little wonder-mongering. It would be quite im
possible that the presence of Sir Walter Scott should
not excite a sensation. He was frequently named in
the journals, received a good deal of private, and
some puhlic notice, but, on the whole, much less of
both, I think, than one would have a right to expect
for him, in a place like Paris. I account for the fact,
by the French distrusting the forthcoming work on
Napoleon, and by a little dissatisfaction which pre
vails on the subject of the tone of " Paul's Let
ters to his Kinsfolk." This feeling may surprise
you, as coming from a nation as old and as great as
France, but, alas ! we are all human.
The King spoke to him, in going to his chapel,
Sir Walter being in waiting for that purpose, but
beyond this I believe he met with no civilities from
the court.

TBANCE. 15
As for myself, circumstances that it is needless to
recount, had brought me, to a slight degree, witiiin
the notice of Sir Walter Scott, though we had never
met, nor had I ever seen him, even in public, so as
to know his person. Still I was not without hopes
of being more fortunate now, while I felt a delicacy
about obtruding myself any furtheron his time and at
tention. Several days after his arrival went by, how
ever, without my good luck bringing me in his way,
and I began to give the matter up, though the Prm-
cesse  , with whom I had the advantage of being
on friendly terms, flattered me with an opportunity
of seeing the great writer at her house, for she had
a fixed resolution of making his acquaintance before
he left Paris, coute qui coute.
It might have been ten days after the arrival of
Sir Walter Scott, that I had ordered a carriage,
one morning, with an intention of driving over to
the other side of the river, and had got as far as the
lower flight of steps, on my way to enter it, when,
by the tramping of horses in the court, I found that
another coach was driving in. It was raining, and,
as my own carriage drove from the door, to make
way for the new comer, I stopped where I was, un
til it could return. The carriage-steps rattled, and
presently a large, heavy-moulded man appeared in
the door of the hotel. He was gray, and limped a
little, walking with a cane. His carriage immedi
ately drove round, and was succeeded by mine,
again ; so I descended. We passed each other on
the stairs, bowing as a matter of course. I had got

16 PRANCE.
to the door, and was about to enter the carriage,
when it flashed on my mind that the visit might be
to myself. The two lower floors of the hotel were
occupied as a girl's boarding-school ; the reason of
our dwelling in it, for our own daughters were in the
establishment ; au seconde, there was nothing but
our own appartement, and above us, again, dwelt
a family whose visitors never came in carriages.
The door of the boarding-school was below, and
men seldom came to it, at all. Strangers, moreover,
sometimes did honour me with calls. Under these
impressions I paused, to see if the visitor went as
far as our flight of steps. All this time, I had not
the slightest suspicion of who he was, though I fan
cied both the face and form were known to me.
The stranger got up the large stone steps slowly,
leaning, with one hand, on the iron railing, and with
the other, on his cane. He was on the first landing,
as I stopped, and, turning towards the next flight,
our eyes met. The idea that I might be the person
he wanted, seemed then to strike him for the first
time. "Est-ce Mons.  , que j'ai I'honneur
de voir?" he asked, in French, and with but an in
difi'erent accent. "Monsieur, je m' appele  ."
"Eh bien, donc—je suis Walter Scott."
I ran up to the landing, shook him by the hand,
which he stood holding out to me cordially, and ex
pressed my sense of the honour he was conferring.
He told rae, in substance, that the Princesse 
had been as good as her word, and having succeeded
herself in getting hold of him, she had good-na-

FRANCE. 17
turedly given him my address. By way of cutting
short all ceremony he had driven from his hotel to
my lodgings. All this time he was speaking French,
while my answers and remarks were in English.
Suddenly recollecting himself, he said — "Well,
here have I been parlez-vousing to you, in a way
to surprise you, no doubt ; but these Frenchmen
have got my tongue so set to their lingo, that I have
half forgotten my own language." As we proceeded
up the next flight of steps, he accepted my arm, and
continued the conversation in English, walking with
more difficulty than I had expected to see. You
will excuse the vanity of my repeating the next ob
servation he made, which I do in the hope that some
of our own exquisites in literature may learn in
what manner a man of true sentiment and sound
feeling regards a trait that they have seen fit to stig
matize as unbecoming. " I'll tell you what I most 1
like," he added, abruptly ; " and it is the manner
in which you maintain the ascendancy of your own
country on all proper occasions, without descending
to vulgar abuse of ours. You are obliged to bring
the two nations in collision, and I respect your
liberal hostility." This will probably be esteemed
treason in our own self-constituted mentors of the
press, one of whom, I observe, has quite lately had
to apologize to his readers for exposing some of the
sins of the English writers in reference to our
selves ! But these people are not worth our atten
tion, for they have neither the independence which
belongs to masculine reason, nor manhood even to
2*'

18 FRANCE.
prize the quality in others. " I am afraid the mo
ther has not always treated the daughter well," he
continued, " feeling a little jealous of her growth,
perhaps ; for, though we hope England has not yet
begun to descend on the evil ^ide, we have a pre
sentiment that she has got to the top of the ladder."
There were two entrances to our apartments ;
one, the principal, leading by an ante-chamber and
saile a manger into the .salon, and thence through
other rooms to a terrace ; and the other, by a pri-
'vate corridor, to the same spot. The door of my
cabinet opened on this corridor, and though it was
dark, crooked, and any thing but savoury, as it lead
by the kitchen, I conducted Sir Walter through it,
under an impression that he walked with pain, an
idea, of which I could not divest myself, in the hur
ry of the moment. But for this awkwardness on
my part, I believe I should have been the witness
of a singular interview. General Lafayette had been
with me a few minutes before, and he had gone
away by the salon, in order to speak to Mrs.  .
Having a note to write, I had left him there, and I
think his carriage could not have quitted the court
when that of Sir Walter Scott entered. If so, the
General must have passed out by the ante-chamber,
about the time we came through the corridor.
There would be an impropriety in my relating
all that passed in this interview ; but we talked over
a matter of business, and then the conversation was
more general. You will remember that Sir Walter

FRANCE. 19
was still the Unknoion,'* and that he was believed
to be in Paris, in search of facts for the Life of Na
poleon. Notwithstanding the former circumstance,
he spoke of his works with great frankness and
simplicity, and without the parade of asking any
promises of secrecy. In short, as he commenced
in this style, his authorship was alluded to by us
both, just as if it had never been called in question.
He asked me if I had a copy of the  by me,
and on my confessing I did not own a single volume
of anything I had written, he laughed, and said he
believed that most authors had the same feeling on
the subject: as for himself, he cared not if he never
saw a Waverly novel again, as long as he lived.
Curious to know whether a writer as great and as
practised as he, felt the occasional despondency
which invariably attends all mj'' own little efforts of
this nature, I remarked that I found the mere com
position of a tale a source of pleasure; so much so,
that I always invented twice as much as was com
mitted to paper, in my walks, or in bed, and, in my
own judgment, much the best parts of the composi
tion never saw the light; for, what was written was
usually written at set hours, and was a good deal a
matter of chance; and that going over and over the
same subject, in proofs, disgusted me so thoroughly
with the book, that I supposed every one else w-ould
be disposed to view it with the same eyes. To this
he answered, that he was spared much of the labour
* He did not avow himself for several months afterwards.

20 FRANCE.
of proof-reading, Scotland, he presumed, being
better off than America, in this respect ; but, still,
he said he "would as soon' see his dinner again, after
a hearty meal, as to read one bf his own tales when
he was fairly rid of it."
He sat with me nearly an hour, and he manifest
ed, during the time the conversation was not tied
down to business, a strong propensity to hu
mour. Having occasion to mention our common
publisher in Paris, he quaintly termed him, with
a sort of malicious fun, "our Gosling;"* adding,
that hc hoped he, at least, "laid golden eggs."
I hoped that he had found the facilities he desired,
in obtaining facts for the forth-coming history. He
rather hesitated about admitting this. — "One can
hear as much as he pleases, in the way of anecdote,"
he said, "but then, as a gentleman, he is not always
sure how much of it he can, with propriety, relate
in a book — besides," throwing all his latent humour
into the expression of his small gray eyes, " one
may even doubt how much of what he hears is fit
for history, on another account." He paused, and
his face assumed an exquisite air of confiding sim
plicity, as he continued with perfect bonne foi and
strong Scottish feeling, " I have been to see mi/
countryman M'Donald, and I rather think that
will be about as much as I can do here, now." This
was uttered with so much naiveti that I could
hardly believe it was the same man, who, a moment
"• His name was Gosselin,

FRANCE. 21
before, had shown so much shrewd distrust of oral
relations of facts.
I inquired when we might expect the work.
" Some time in the course of the winter," he re
plied, "though it is likely to prove larger than I, at
first, intended. We have got several volumes print
ed, but I find I must add to the matter, considerably,
in order to dispose of the subject. I thought I
should get rid of it in seven volumes, which are
already written, but it will reach, I think, to nine."
" If you have two still to write, I shall not expect
to see the book before spring." " You may. Let
me once get back to Abbotsford, and I'll soon knock
ofi" those two fellows." To this I had nothing to
say, although I thought such a tour de force in
writing might better suit invention than history.
When he rose to go, I begged him to step into
the salon, that I migbt have the gratification of in
troducing my wife to him. To this he very good
naturedly assented, and entering the room, afler
presenting Mrs.  and my nephew W  , he
took a seat. He sat some little time, and his fit of
pleasantry returned, for he illustrated his discourse
by one or two apt anecdotes, related with a slightly
Scottish accent, that he seemed to drop and assume
at will. Mrs.  observed to him that the bergtre
in which he was seated, had been twice honoured
that morning, for General Lafayette had not left it
more than half an hour. Sir Walter Scott looked
surprised at this, and said, inquiringly, " I thought
he had gone to America, to pass the rest of his

22 FRANCE.
days ?" On my explaining the true state of the
case, he merely observed, " he is a great man ;" and
yet, I thought the remark was made coldly, or in
complaisance to us.
When Sir Walter left us, it was settled that I
was to breakfast with him, the following day but
one. I was punctual, of course, and found him in
a new silk douilliette that he had just purchased,
trying " as hard as he could," as he pleasantly ob
served, to make a Frenchman of himself ; an un
dertaking as little likely to be successful, I should
think, in the case of his Scottish exterior, and Scot
tish interior, too, as any experiment well could be.
There were two or three visitors present, besides
Miss Ann Scott, his daughter, who was his com
panion in the journey. He was just answering an
invitation from the Princesse  , to an evening
party, as I entered. " Here," said he, " you are a
friend of the lady, and parlez-vous so much better
than I, can you tell me whether this is for jeudi, or
lundi, or viardi, or whether it means no day at all."
I told him the day of the week intended. " You
get notes occasionally from the lady, or you could
not read her scrawl so readily?" " She is very kind
to us, and we often have occasion to read her
writing." "Well, it is worth a very good dinner
to get through a page of it." " I take my revenge
in kind, and I fancy she has the worst of it." "I
don't know, after all, that she will get much the
better of me, with this plume d' auberge." He was
quite right, for, although Sir Walter writes a smooth

PRANCE. 23
even hand, and one that appears rather well than
otherwise on a page, it is one of the most difficult
to decipher I have ever met with. The i's, u's,
m's, n's, a's, e's, t's, &c., &c., for want of dots,
crossings, and being fully rounded, looking all alike,
and rendering the reading slow and difficult, with
out great familiarity with his mode of handling the
pen ; at least, I have found it so.
He had sealed the note, and was about writing
the direction, when he seemed at a loss. " How do
you address this lady — as ' Her Highness'? " I was
much surprised at this question from him, for it de
noted a want of familiarity with the world, that one
would not have expected in a man who had been so
very much and so long courted by the great. But,
after all, his life has been provincial, though, as his
daughter remarked in the course of the morning,
they had no occasion to quit Scotland, to see the
world, all the world coming to see Scotland.
The next morning he was with me again, for
near an hour, and we completed our little affair.
After this, we had a conversation on the Law of
Copy-Rights, in the two countries, which, as we
possess a common language, is a subject of great
national interest. I understood him to say that he
had a double right, in England, to his works ; one
under a statute, and the other growing out of com
mon law. Any one publishing a book, let it be
written by whom it might, in England, duly com
plying with the law, can secure the right, whereas,
none but a citizen can do the same in America. I

24 PRANCE.
regret to say, that I misled him on the subject of
our copy-right law, which, after all, is not so much
more illiberal than that of England, as I had
thought it.
I told Sir Walter Scott, that, in order to se
cure a copy-right in America, it was necessary the
book should never have been published anywhere
else. This was said under the popular notion of
the matter ; or that which is entertained among the
booksellers. Reflection and examination have since
convinced me of my error : the publication alluded
to in the law, can only mean publication in Ameri-
, ca; for, as the object of doing certain acts previous
ly to publication is merely to forewarn the .Ameri
can public that the right is reserved, there can be
no motive for having reference to any other publica
tion. It is, moreover, in conformity with the spirit
of all laws to limit the meaning of their phrases by
their proper jurisdiction. Let us suppose a case.
An American writes a book. He sends a copy to
England, where it is published in March. Comply
ing with the terms of our own Copy-Right Law,
as to the entries and notices, the same work is pub
lished here in April. Now, will it be pretended
that his right is lost, always providing that his own
is the first American publication? I do not see
how it can be so, by either the letter or the spirit
of the law. The intention is to encourage the citi
zen to write, and to give him a just property in the
fruits of his labour; and the precautionary provi
sions of the law are merely to prevent others from

FRANCE. 25
being injured for want of proper information. It is
of no moment to either of these objects that the au
thor o^ a work has already reaped emolument, in a
foreign country. The principle is to encourage lite
rature, by giving it all the advantages it can obtain.
If these views are correct, why may not an Eng
lish writer secure a right in this country, by selling
it in season, to a citizen here ? An equitable trust
might not, probably would not be sufficient, but a
bond fide transfer for a valuable consideration, I
begin to think, would. It seems to me that all the
misconception which has existed on this point, has
arisen from supposing that the term publication
refers to other than a publication in the country.
But, when one remembers how rare it is to get
lawyers to agree on a question like this, it becomes a
layman to advance his opinion with great humility.
I suppose, after all, a good way of getting an accu
rate notion of the meaning of the law, would be to
toss a dollar into the air, and cry "heads," or "tails."
Sir Walter Seott seemed fully aware of the great
circulation of his books in America, as well as how
much he lost by not being able to secure a copy
right. Still, he admitted they produced him some
thing. Our conversation on this subject terminated
by a frank ofier, on his part, of aiding me with the
publishers of his own cotintry,* but, although grate-
* An offer that 'was twice renewed, after mtervals of several
years.
Vol. II. 3

26 FRANCE.
ful for the kindness, I was not so circumstanced as
to be able to profit by it.
He did not appear to me to be pleased with Paris.
His notions of the French were pretty accurate,
though clearly not free from the old-fashioned pre
judices. "After all," he remarked, " I am a true
Scot, never, except on this occasion, and the short
vi«it I made to Paris in 1815, having been out of
my own country, unless to visit England, and I
have even done very little of the latter." I under
stood him to say he had never been in Ireland, at all.
I met him once more, in the evening, at the hotel
of the Princesse — — —. The party had been got to
gether in a hurry, and was not large. Our hostess con
trived to assemble some exceedingly clever people,
however, among whom were one or two women,
who are already historical, and whom I had fancied
long since dead. All the female part of the compa
ny, with the silent delicacy that the French so well
understand, appeared with ribbons, hats, or orna
ments of some sort or other, of a Scottish stamp.
Indeed, almost the only woman in the room that
did not appear to be a Caledonian was Miss Scott.
She was in half-mourning, and with her black eyes
and jet-black hair, might very well have passed for
a French woman, but for a slight peculiarity about
the cheek boneSv She looked exceedingly well,
and was much admired. Haying two or three more
places to go to, they staid but an hour. As a mat
ter of course, all the French women were exceed
ingly empressiesin their manner towards the Great

FRANCE. 27
Unknown, and as there were three or four that were
very exaggerated on the score of romance, he was
quite lucky if he escaped some absurdities. Nothing
could be more patient than his manner, under it all,
but as soon as he very well could, he got into a cor
ner, where I went to speak to him. He said, laugh
ingly, that he spoke French with so much difficulty
he was embarrassed to answer the compliments.
"I'm as good a lion as needs be, allowing my mane
to be stroked as familiarly as they please, but I can't
.growl for tbem, in French. How is it with you?"
Disclaiming the necessity of being either a good or
a bad lion, being very little troubled in that way,
for his amusement I related to him an anecdote.
Pointing out to him a Comtesse de  , who was
present, I told him, this lady I had met once a
week, for several months, and at every soirie she
invariably sailed up to me to say — " Oh, Monsieur
 , quelles livres! — vos charmants livres — que
vos livres sont charmants!" and I had just made
up my mind that she was, at least, a woman of taste,
when she approached me with the utmost sang
froid, and cried — " Bon soir. Monsieur  / je
mens d'acheter tous vos livres et je compte pro-
fiter de la premiere occasion pour les lire !"
I took leave of him, in the ante-chamber, as he
went away, for he was to quit Paris the following
evening. Sir Walter Scott's person and manner have been so
often described, that you will not ask much of me,
in this way, especially as I saw so little of him.

28 FRANCE.
His frame is large and muscular, his walk difficult,
in appearance, though he boasted himself a vigorous
mountaineer, and his action, in general, measured
and heavy. His features and countenance were very
Scottish, with the short thick nose, heavy lips, and
massive cheeks. The superior or intellectual part
of his head was neither deep nor broad, but perhaps
the reverse, though singularly high. Indeed, it is
quite uncommon to see. a scull so round and tower
like in the formation, though I have met with them
in individuals not at all distinguished for talents. I
do not think a casual observer would find anything
unusual in the exterior of Sir Walter Scott, beyond
his physical force, which is great, withou't being at
all extraordinary. His eye, however, is certainly
remarkable. Gray, small, and without lustre, in his
graver moments it appears to look inward, instead
of regarding external objects, in a way, though the
expression, more or less, belongs to abslraction, that
I have never seen equalled. His smile is good-na-
turied and social ; and when he is in the mood, as
happened to be the fact so often in our brief inter
course as to lead me to think it characteristic of tbe
man, his eye would lighten with a great deal af
latent fun. He spoke more freely of his private
afifairs than I had reason to expect, though our busi
ness introduced the subject naturally ;, and, at such
times, I thought the expression changed to a sort of
melancholy resolution, that was not wanting in
sublimity. The manner of Sir Walter Scott is that of a man

FRANCE. 29
accustomed to see much of the world without being
exactly a man of the world himself.. He has evi
dently great social tact, perfect self-possession, is
quiet, and absolutely without pretension, and has
mvich dignity ; and yet it struck me that he wanted
the ease and hplomb of one accustomed to live with
his equals. Tbe fact of his being a lion, may pro
duce some such effect, but I am mistaken if it be
not more the influence of early habits and opinions
than of any thing else.
Scott has been so much the raark of society, that
it has evidently changed his natural manner, which
is far less restrained, than it is his habit to be in the
world. I do not mean by this, the mere restraint
of decorum, but a drilled simplicity or demureness,
like that of girls who are curbed in their tendency
to fun and light-heartedness, by the dread of obser
vation. I have seldom known a man of his years,
whose manner was so difierent in a tete-h-tete,
and in the presence of a third person. In Edinburgh^
the circle must be small, and he probably knows
every one. If strangers do go there, they do not
go all at once, and, of course, the old faces form the,
great majority;, so that he finds himself always en'
familiar ground. I can readily imagine that in SuM
Eeekie, and among the proper set, warmed perhaps
by a glass of mountain-dew, that Sir Walter Scott,
in his peculiar way, is one of the pleasantest com
panions the world holds.
There was a certain M. de  at the soirie of
the Princesse  , who has obtained some notori-
3*

30 FRANCE.
ety as the writer of novels. I had the honour of
being introduced to this person, and was much
amused with one of his questions. You are to un
derstand that the vaguest possible notions exist in
France, on the subject of the United States. Em
pires, states, continents and islands, are blended in
inextricable confusion, in the minds of a large ma
jority of even the intelligent classes, and we some
times hear the oddest ideas imaginable. This
ignorance, quite pardonable in part, is not confined
to France, by any means, but exists even in Eng
land, a country that ought to know us better. It
would seem that M. de  , either because I was
a shade or two whiter than himself, or because he
did not conceive it possible that an American could
write a book, (for in this quarter ofthe world, there
is a strong tendency to believe that every man
whose name crosses the ocean from America, is
merely some European who has gone there,) or,
from some cause that to me is inexplicable, took it
into his head that I was an Englishman who had
amused a leisure year or two in the Western
Hemisphere. After asking me a few questions con
cerning the country, he very coolly continued —
" Et, combien de tems avez-vous passi, en Ami-
rique. Monsieur ?" Comprehending his mistake,
for a little practice here makes one quick in such
matters, I answered — " Monsieur, nous y sommes,
dipuis deux slides." I question if M. de 
has yet recovered from his surprize !
/ The French, when their general cleverness is con-

FRANCE. 31
sidered, are singularly ignorant of the habits, insti
tutions, and civilization of other countries. This is
in part owing to their being little addicted to travel
ling. Their commercial enterprize is not great ; for
though we occasionally see a Frenchman carrying
with him into pursuits of this nature, the com
prehensive views, and one might almost say, the
philosophy, that distinguish the real intelligence of
the country, such instances are rare, the prevailing
character of their commerce being caution and cloSe
dealing. Like the people of all great nations, their
attention is drawn more to themselves than to others,
and then the want of a knowledge of foreign lan
guages has greatly contributed to their ignorance.
This want of knowledge of foreign languages, in a
nation that has traversed Europe as conquerors, is
owing to the fact that they have either carried their
own language with them, or met it everywhere. It
is a want, moreover, that belongs rather to the last
generation, than to the jiresent ; the returned emi
grants having brought back with them a taste for
English, German, Italian and Spanish, which has
communicated itself to all, or nearly all, the edu
cated people of the country. English, in particular,
is now very generally studied; and perhaps, rela
tively, more French, under thirty years of age, are
to be found in Paris, who speak English, than Ame
ricans, of the same age, are to be found in New
York, who speak French.
I think the limited powers of the language, and
the rigid laws to which it has been subjected, con-

32 FRANCE.
tribute' to render the French less acquainted with
foreign nations, than they woiuld otherwise be. In
all their translations, there is an effort to fender the
word, however peculiar may be its meaning,- into
, the French tongue. Thus, "township," and "city,"
met with in an American book, would probably
be rendered' by " eanton" or " commune,'^ or
" ville;" neither of which conveys an accurate idea
of tbe thing intended. In an English or American
book, we should introduce the French word at once,
which would induce the reader to inquire into
the differences that exist between the minor territo
rial divisions of his own country, and those of tbe
country of which he is reading. In this manner is
the door opened for further information, until both
writers and readers come to find it easier and more
agreeable to borrow words from others, than to cur
tail their ideas by their national vocabulariesi The
French y however,, are beginning to feel their pover
ty, in this respect, and some are already bold enough
to resort to the natural cure.
The habit of thinking, of other nations through
their own customs, betrays the people of this coun
try into many ridiculous inistakes. One hears, here,
the queerest questions imaginable, every day ; all
of wbich, veiled by the good-breeding, and delicacy
that characterize the nation, betray an innocent sense
of superiority, that may be smiled at, and which cre
ates no feeling of resentment. A savan lately named
to me the coasting tonnage of France, evidently with
tbe expectation of exciting my admiration ; and om

FRANCE. 33
my receiving the information coolly, he inquired,
with a little sarcasm of manner — "without doubt,
you have some coasting tonnage, also, in America?"
"The coasting tonnage of the United States, Mon
sieur, is greater than the entire tonnage of France."
The man looked astonished, and I was covered with
questions, as to the nature ofthe trade that required
so much shipping, among a population numerically
so small. It could not possibly be the consumption
of a country — he did not say it, but he evidently
thought it — so insignificant and poor ? I told him,
that, bread, wine, and every other article of the first
necessity excepted, the other con.sumption of Ame
rica, especially in luxuries, did not fall so much short
of that of France as he imagined, owing to the great
abundance in which the middling and lower classes
lived. Unlike Europe, articles that were imported,
were mere necessaries of life, in America, such as
tea, coffee, sugar, &c., &c., the lowest labourer usu
ally indulging in them. He left me evidently im
pressed with new notions, for there is a desire to
learn mingled with all their vanity.
But, I will relate a laughable blunder of a trans
lator, by way of giving you a familiar example of
the manner in which the French fall into error, con
cerning the condition of other nations, and to illus-
,trate my meaning. In one of the recent American
novels that have been circulated here, a character is
made to betray confusion, by tracing lines on the
table, after dinner, with some wine that bad been
spilt, a sort of idle occupation sufficiently common

34 FRANCE.
to allow the allusion to be understood by every
American.^ The sentence was faithfully rendered;,
but, not satisfied with giving bis original, tbe trans
lator annexes a note, in whicb he says, " one sees
by this little trait, that the use of table-cloths', at tbe
time of the American Revolution, was unknown in
America!" You will understand the train of rea
soning tbat led him to tbis conclusion. In Franee
the cover is laid, perhaps, on a coarse table of oak,
or even of pine, and the cloth is never drawn ; the
men leaving the table witb tbe women. In Ameri
ca, tbe table is of highly polished mahogany, tbe
cloth is removed, and the men sit, as in England.
Now the French custom was supposed to be the
custom of mankind, and wine could not be traced
on tbe wood had there been a cloth ; America was a
young and semi-civilized nation, and, ergo, in 1779,
there could have been no table-cloths known in
America ! When men even visit a people of whom
they have been accustomed to think in this way,
they use their eyes through the medium of the
imagination. I lately met a French traveller who
affirmed that tbe use of carpets was hardly known
among us.

FRANCE. 35

LETTER II.

To James E. De Kay, Esquire.
In my last, I gave you a few examples of the
instances in whicb the French have mistaken the
relative civilization of their country and America,
and I sball now give you some in which we haVe
fallen into the same error, or the other side of the
question. There has lately been an exhibition of articles of
French manufacture, at Paris ; one of, I believe, the
triennial collections of this character, that have been
established bere. The court of the Louvre was
filled with temporary booths, for the occasion, and
vast ranges of the unfinished apartments in that
magnificent palace bave been thrown open for tbe
same purpose. The court of the Louvre, of itself,
is an area rather more tban four hundred feet square^
and I should tbink fully a quarter of a mile of rooms
in the building itself, are to .be added to the space
occupied for tbis purpose.
/ The first idea, witb wbicb I was impressed, on
walking through tbe booths and galleries, on this oc
casion, was the great disproportion between the ob
jects purely of taste and luxury, and the objects of

36 FRANCE.
use. Tbe former abounded, were very generally
elegant and well imagined, while the latter betrayed
the condition of a nation whose civilization bas com
menced witb the summit, instead of the base of so
ciety. .'
/ In France, nearly every improvement in ma
chinery is the result of scientific research ; is unob
jectionable in principles, profound in tbe adaptation
of its parts to the end, and commonly beautiful in
form. But it ends here, rarely penetrating the
mass, and producing positive results. The conser
vatoire des arts, for instance, is full of beautiful
and ingenious ploughs, while France is tilled with
heavy, costly and cumbrous implements of this na
ture. One sees light mould turning up, here, under
a sort of agricultural diligences, drawn by four, and
even six heavy horses, which in America would be
done quite as well, and much sooner, by two. You
know I am farmer enough to understand wbat I say,
on a point like this. In France, the cutlery, iron
ware, glass, door-fastenings, hinges, locks, fire-irons,
axes, hatchets, carpenter's tools, and, in short, almost
every thing that is connected witb homely industry
and homely comfort, is inferior to tbe same tbing in
America. It is true, many of our articles are im
ported, but tbis produces no change in tbe habits of
the respective people ; our manufactories are merely
in Birmingham, instead of being in Philadelphia. ' y"
I have novv been long enough in France tbunder-
stand that seeing an article in an exhibition like the
one I am describing, is no proof that it enters at all

FRANCE. 37
into the comforts and civilization of tbe nation, al
though it may be an object as homely as a barrow
or a spade. Tbe scientific part of tbe country bas
little influence, in this way, on the operative. The
chasm between knowledge and ignorance is so vast
in France, tbat it requires a long time for tbe sim
plest idea to find its way across it.
Exhibitions are every where bad guides to the
average civilization of a country, as it is usual to ex
pose only tbe objects tbat have been wrought with
tbe greatest eare. In a popular sense, they are proofs
of what can be done, rather tban of wbat is done.
The cloths tbat I saw in the booths, for instance, are
not to be met with in the shops ; tbe specimens of
fire-arms, glass, cutlery, &c. &c., too, are all mucb
superior to any thing one finds on sale. But this is
the case every where, from the boarding-school to
the military parade, men invariably putting the best
foot foremost, when tbey are to be especially in
spected. This is not tbe difference I mean. Fa-
> miliar, as every American, at all accustomed to tbe
usages of genteel life in bis own country, must be,
with the better manufactures of Great Britain, I
think he would be struck by tl>e inferiority of even
the best specimens of the commoner articles that
were here laid before tbe public. But when it came
to the articles of elegance and luxury, as con
nected with forms, taste and execution, though not
always in ingenuity and extent of comfort, I should
tbink that no Englishman, let his rank in life be
Vol. II. 4

38 PRANCE.
what it would, could pass througb tbis wilderness of
elegancies, without wonder.
Even tbe manufactures in whicb we, or rather
the English (for I now refer more to use than to
production) ordinarily excel, sucb as carpets, rugs,
porcelain, plate, and all the higher articles of per
sonal comfort, as exceptions, surpass those of which
we have any notion. I say, as exceptions, not in
tbe sense by whicb we distinguish tbe extraordinary
efforts of the ordinary manufacturer, in order to
make a figure at an exhibition, but certain objects
produced in certain exclusive establishments, tbat
are chiefly the property of the crown, as they bave
been the offspring of regal taste and magnificence.
Of this latter character is the Sevres china. Tbere
are manufactures of this name, of a quality that
brings tbem within the reacb of moderate fortunes,
it is true, but one obtains no idea of tbe length to
whicb luxury and taste have' been pushed in tbis
branch of art, vtrithout examining the objects made
especially for tbe king, who is in the habit of dis
tributing them as presents among the crowned heads
and bis personal favourites. After tbe ware has
been made, witb the greatest care, and of tbe best
materials, artists of celebrity are employed to paint
it. Yoii can easily imagine the value of tbese ar
ticles, when you remember that eacb plate bas a de
sign of its own, beautifully executed in colours, and
presenting a landscape or an historical subject, that
is fit to be framed and suspended in a gallery. One
or two of tbe artists employed in this manner bave

PRANCE. 39
great reputations, and it is no uncommon thing to
see miniatures, in gilded frames, wbicb, on examina
tion, prove to be on porcelain. Of course the paint
ing has been subject to the action of heat, in the
baking. As respects the miniatures, there is not
much to be said in their favour. They are well
drawn and well enough coloured, but the process
and tbe material together, give them a glossy, un
natural appearance, which must prevent them from
ever being considered as more than so many tours
de force in the arts. But on vases, dinner setts,
and all ornamental furniture of this nature, in which
we look for the peculiarities of the material, tbey
produce a magnificence of effect, that I cannot de
scribe. Vases of the value of ten or fifteen thousand
francs, or even of more money, are not uncommon,
and at the exhibition there was a little table, the
price of which I believe was two thousand dollars,
that was a perfect treasure in its way.
Busts, and even statues, I believe, have been at
tempted in this branch of art. This, of course, is
enlisting tbe statuary as well as the painter in its
service. I remember to have seen, when at Sevres,
many busts of the late Due de Berri, in the pro
cess of drying, previously to being put into the
oven. Our cicerone, on tbat occasion, made us
laugh, by tbe routine witb which be went throi|gh
his catalogue of wonders. He had pointed out to
us the unbaked busts, in a particular room, and, on
entering another apartment, where tbe baked busts
were standing, be exclaimed — -"t/ih! voilh son M-

40 PRANCE.
tesse Boyal tout cuit." This is just the amount of
the criticism I should hazard on this branch of the
Sevres art, or on that which exceeds its legitimate
limits — "Behold hisRoyal Highness,readycooked."
The value of some of the single plates must be
very considerable, and the king, frequently, in pre
senting a solitary vase, or ornament of the Sevres
porcelain, presents thousands.
v- Tbe tapestry is anotber of the costly works, that
it has suited tbe policy of France to keep up, wbile
ber ploughs, and axes, and carts, and other ordinary
implements are still so primitive and awkward. The
exhibition contained many specimens from the Go
belins, that greatly surpassed my expectations. Tbey
were chiefly historical subjects, witb the figures
larger than life, and might very well have passed,
witb a novice, at a little distance, for oil paintings.
The dimensions of tbe apartment are taken, and tbe
subject is designed, of course, on a scale suited to
tbe room. The effect of this species of ornament
is very noble and imposing, and the tapestries have
the additional merit of warmth and comfort. Hang
ings in cloth are very common in Paris, but tbe
tapestry of the Gobelins is chiefly confined to the
royal palaces. Our neighbour tbe due de  , has
some of it, bowever, in his hotel, a present from the
king, but tbe colours are much faded, and the work
is otherwise tbe worse for time. I bave heard bim
say, that one piece be bas, even in its dilapidated
state, is valued at seven tbousand francs. Occasion
ally a little of this tapestry is found, in this manner.

FRANCE. 41
in the great hotels ; but, as a rule, its use is strictly
royal. ^-
The paper for hangings, is anotber article in
wbicb the French excel. We get very pretty spe
cimens of their skill in this manufacture in America,
but, witb occasional exceptions, nothing that is
strictly magnificent finds its way into our markets.
I was much struck with some of these hangings that
were made to imitate velvet. The cloth appeared
to be actually incorporated with tbe paper, and by
no ingenuity of whieh I was master, could I detect
the means. The style of paper is eommon enough,
every where, but this exhibition bad qualities far
surpassing any tbing of tbe sort I had ever before
seen. Curiosity has since led me to tbe paper-
maker, in order to penetrate the secrets of his art,
and tbere, like the affair of Columbus and the egg,
I found the whole thing as simple as heart could
wish. You will probably smile, when you learn the
process by which paper is converted into velvet,
wbicb is briefly tbis.
Wooden moulds are Hsed to stamp tbe designs,
eacb colour being put on, by laying a separate mould
on its proper place-, one mould being used after an
other, tbough only one is used on any particular oc
casion. Thus, all the black is put on now, the
green to-morrow, and the yellow next day. As to
the velvets, they are produced as follows. Wool is
chopped fine, and dyed the desired bue, I am not
certain that cotton, or even otber materials may not
foe used. This chopped and coloured wool is tbrown

42 PRANCE.
into a tub ,' the mould is covered witb some glu--
tinous substance, and when applied it leaves on the
paper the adhesive property, as types leave tbe ink.
The paper passes immediately over tbe tub, and a
bOy throws on tbe wool. A light blow or two, of
a rattan, tosses it about, and finally throws all back
again into the tub that bas not touched tbe glue.
Tbe printed part, of course, is covered with blue,
or purple, or scarlet wool, and is converted, by a
touch of the wand, into velvet I The process of
covering a yard lasts about ten seconds, and I
should tbink considerably more tban a hundred
yards of paper could be velvetized in an hour. We
laughed at tbe discovery, and came away satisfied
that Solomon could have known nothing about man-
afacturing paper-hangings, or he would not have
said there was nothing "new under tbe sun."
But the manufacture of France that struck me as
being strictly in the best taste, in which perfection
a;nd magnificence are attained without recourse tO'
conceits, or doing violence to any of the proprieties,
are tbe products of the Savonnerie, and the exqui--
sitely designed and executed works of Beauvais.
These include chair' bottoms and backs, hangings-
for rooms, and, I believe, carpets. At all events, if
tbe carpets do' not come from these places,- tbey are
quite worthy to bave that extraction. Flowers,
arabesques^ and otber similar designs^ exquisitely
coloured and drawn, chiefly limit tbe efforts of the
former ; and the ,carpets were in single pieces, and
inade to fi-t the room. Notiiing tbat you have ever

FRANCE. 43
seen, or probably have imagined, at all equals the
magnificence of some of these princely carpets. In
deed, I know nothing that runs a closer parallel to
the general civilization between France and Engr
land, and I might almost add of America, than the
bistory of their respective carpets. In France, a
vast majority of the people hardly know wbat a car
pet is. They use mud floors, or, rising a little above
the very lowest classes, coarse stone and rude tiles
are substituted. The middling classes, out of tbe
large towns, have little else besides painted tiles.
The wooden parquet is met with, in all the better'
houses, and is well made and well kept. There is a
finish and beauty about them, that is not misplaced
even in a palace. Among all these classes, until
quite lately, carpets were unknown, or at least they
were confined to the very highest class of society*
The great influx of English has introduced them
into the public hotels, and common lodging houses^
but I bave visited among many French of rank and
fortune, in the dead of winter, and found no carpets^
A few of a very coarse quality, made of rags, adroitly
tortured into laboured designs, are seen, it is true,.
even in indifferent bouses ; but tbe rule is, as I bave
told you. In short, carpets, in this country, until
quite lately^ have been deemed articles of bigb lux
ury; and, like nearly every thing else that is mag
nificent and luxurious, at the point where tbey have
been taken up, they infinitely exceed any thing of
tbe sort in England. The classical designs, perfect

44

PRANCE.

drawings, and brilliant colours^ defeat every effort
to surpass them, — 'I had almost said, all competition.
In all America, except in tl^e new regions, with
here and tbere, a dwelling on the frontier, there is
scarcely a house to be found without carpets, tbe
owners of whicb are at all above the labouring classes.
Even in many of the latter they are to be found.
We are carpetted, frequently, from the kitchen to
the garret; the richness and rarity of the' manufac
ture increasing as- we ascend in the scale of wealth
and fasbion, until we reach the uttermost limits of
our habits — a point where beauty and neatness verge
upon elegance and magnificence. At this point, how
ever, we stop,- and the turn of the French com
mences. Now this is the history of the compara
tive civilization of the two countries, in a multitude
of other matters ;- perhaps it would be better to say
it is tbe general comparative history of the two
countries. The English differ from us, only,, in
carrying their scale both higher and lower than
ourselves: in being sometimes magnificent, and
sometimes impoverished ;. but rarely, indeed, do
they equal the, French, in tbe light, classical, and
elegant taste that so eminently distinguishes tbese
people. There is sometbing ponderous and purse-
proud about tbe magnificence of England, that is
scarcely ever visible here ; though taste is evidently
and rapidly on the increase in England, on the one
hand, as comfort is here, on the other. The Frenoh
have even partially adopted the two words "fash
ionable," and " comfortable."

FRANCE. 45
One of the most curious things connected witb
the arts in France, is that of transferring old pic
tures from wood to canvass. A large proportion of
the paintings of the sixteenth and seventeenth cen
turies were done on wood or copper, and many of
tbe former are, or have been, in danger of being lost,
from decay. In order to meet the evil, a process
bas been invented by which the painting is trans
ferred to canvas, where it remains, to all appearance,
as good as ever. I have taken some pains to aiscer-
tain in what manner this nice operation is perform
ed. I have seen pictures in various stages of the
process, though I have never watched any one
througb it all ; and, in one instance, I saw a small
Wouvermans, stripped to the shirt, if it may be so
expressed, or, in other words, when it was nothing
but paint. From what I bave seen and been told,
I understand the mode of effecting this delicate and
almost incredible operation, to be as follows : —
A glue is rubbed over the face of the picture,^
which is then laid on a piece of canvas tbat is pro
perly stretched and secured, to receive it. Weights
are now laid on the back of the picture, and it is left
for a day or two, in order that the glue may harden.
Tbe weights are then removed, and the operator
commences removing the wood, first witb a plane,
and, wben he approaches the paint, with sharp deli
cate chissels. The paint is kept in its place by the
canvas to whicb it is glued, and whicb is itself se
cured to the table ; and, although the entire body of
tbe colours, hardened as it is by time, is usually not

46

PRANCE.

thicker than a thin wafer, tbe wood is commonly
taken entirely from it. Should a thin fragment
be left, however, or a crack made in tbe paint, it is
considered of no great moment. The Wouver
mans alluded to, was pure paint, however, and
I was shown the pieces of wood, much worm-
eaten, tbat had been removed. When the wood
is away, glue is applied to the back of the paint,
and to the canvas on which it is intended tbe pic
ture sball remain. Tbe latter is then laid on the
paint. New weights are placed above it, and they
are left two or three days longer, for tbis new glue
to barden. Wben it is thought the adhesion- be
tween the second canvas and the paint: is sufficient,
the weights are removed, the picture is turnedj and
warm water is used in loosening the first canvas
from the face of the picture, until it can be stripped
off. More or less of the varnish of the picture usu
ally comes off, with the glue, rendering the separation
easier. The painting is tben cleaned, retouched,, and
should it be necessary, varnished and framed ;. after
whicb it commonly looks as well, and. is really as
sound and as good as ever, so far, at least, as tbe
consistency is concerned.
xlmong otber wonders in the exhibition, was the
coronation coach of Charles X. Tbis carriage is
truly magnificent. It is quite large, as indeed are
all tbe royal carriages, perbaps as large as an Ame
rican stage-coach ; tbe glass, pure and spotless as air,
goes all round' tbe upper compartments, so as to ad
mit of a view of the whole interior ; the pannels are

PRANCE. 47
beautifully painted in design; tbe top has gilded
and well-formed angels blowing trumpets, and the
crown of France surmounts the centre. The wheels,
and train, and pole, are red, striped with gold. All
tbe leather is red morocco, gilt, as is the harness.
Plumes of ostrich feathers ornament tbe angles, and,
altogether, it is a most glittering and gorgeous ve
hicle. The paintings, the gildings, and all the de
tails are well executed, except the running gear,
which struck me as clumsy and imperfect. The
cost is said to bave been about sixty tbousand dol
lars. Many new rooms in tbe Louvre were thrown
open on this occasion, in order that the paintings on
their ceilings might be viewed, and as I walked
through this gorgeous magnificence, I felt bow
small were our highest pretensions to anything like
elegance or splendour. The very extreme of art,
of this nature, may, of itself, be of no great direct
benefit, it is true, but it should be remembered, that
the skill whicb produces tbese extraordinary fruits,
in its road to tbe higher points of magnificence, pro
duces all tbat embellishes life in tbe intermediate
gradations. In America, in the eagerness of gain, and with
the contracted habits tbat a love of gain engenders,
wbicb by their own avidity, as is usual witb tbe
- grosser passions, too often defeat tbeir own ends, we
ovtrlook the vast importance of cultivating tbe fine
arts, even in a pecuniary sense, to say nothing of the
increased means of enjoying the very money that is

48

PRANCE.

SO blindly pursued, wbicb their possession entails,
France is at this moment laying ali Christendom
under contribution, simply by means of her taste.
Italy, where the arts have flourished still longer, and
where tbey bave still more effectually penetrated
society, would drive the English and French out of
every market on earth, were the national energy
at all equal to tbe national tastes. These things do
not as exclusively belong to extreme luxury as they
may at first seem. Science, skill of the nicest in
vestigation, and great research, are all enlisted in
their behalf; and, in time, implements of the
most homely uses derive perfection, as by-plays,
from tbe investigations consequent on the produc
tion of luxuries. It is true, that, by blending
a certain amount of information with practice, as in
the case of the American labourer, our wants find
the means of furnisbihg their own supplies ; but,
apart from tbe fact that the man who makes a .chair
is not obliged to sit in it, and is therefore content to
consult his profits merely, tbe impulses of practice
are much aided by tbe accumulated knowledge of
study. The influence that the arts of design have
had on the French manufactures is incalculable.
They have brought in the aid of chemistry, and
mathematics, and a knowledge of antiquity; and
we can trace the effects in the bronzes, the porce
lain, the hangings, the chintzes, the silks, down to
the very ribbands of the country. We shall in
vain eadeavour to compete witili the great European
aalions, unkas we make slxoHger csflforts to cultivate

FRANCE. 49
tbe fine arts. Of what avails our beautiful glass,
unless we know how to cut it ; or of wbat great ad
vantage, in tbe strife of industry, will be even tbe
skilful glass-cutter, sbould he not also be tbe taste
ful glass-cutter. It is true that classical forms and
proportions are, as yet, of no great account among
us, and the great mass of tbe American people still
cling to their own uninstructed fancies, in preference
to the outlines and proportions of tbe more approved
models, and to those hues wbich art bas demonstrated
to be harmonious. Tbis is the bistory of every so
ciety in its progress to perfection ; and, cut off as
we are from the rest of the civilized world, it is not
to be expected tbat we are to make an extraordinary
exception. But, wbile we may be satisfied with our
own skill and taste, tbe bappy lot of all ignorance,
our customers will not bave tbe same self-compla
cency, to induce them to become purchasers. We
find tbis truth already. We beat all nations in the
fabrication of common unstamped cottons. Were
trade as free as some political economists pretend,
we sbould drive all our competitors out of every
market, as respects tbis one article. But the mo
ment we attempt to print, or to meddle witb tbat
part of the business whicb requires taste, we find
ourselves inferior to the Europeans, whose forms
we are compelled to imitate, and of course to receive
when no longer novel, and whose hues defy our art.
The wisest tbing tbe United States could do,
would be to appropriate thirty or forty millions to
the formation of a marine, not to secure tbe coast.
Vol. n. 5

^^ PRANCE.
as our hen-roost statesmen are always preaching,
but to keep, in our own bands, tbe control of our
own fortunes, By rendering our enmity or friendship
of so mucb account to Europe, that no power shall
ever again dare trespass on our national rights: —
and one of tbe next wisest measures, I honestly be
lieve, would be to appropriate, at once, a million to
the formation of a National Gallery, in wbicb copies
bftbe antique, antiques tbemselves, pictures, bronzes,
arabesques, and other models of true taste, might
be collected, before whicb the young aspirants for
fame migbt study, and witb whijch become imbued,
as the preliminary step to an infusion of tbeir merits
into society. Without including tbe vast influence
of such a cultivation on tbe manners, associations,
intellects^ and habits of the people — an influence that
can scarcely be appreciated too highly — fifty years
would see the first cost returned fifty-fold, in the
shape of tbe much beloved dollars. Will this hap
pen? Not till men of enlightened minds — states
men, instead of political partizans — are sent to
Washington. It is the misfortune of America to lie
so remote from tbe rest of the civilized world, as to
feel little of the impulses of a noble competition,
our rivalry commonly limiting itself to the vulgar
exhibitions of individual vanity; and this the more
to our disadvantage, as, denied access to the best
models for even this humble species of contention,
with the antagonists we are compelled to choose,
victory is as bad as defeat.
One of the great init)ediments to a high class of

FRANCE. 51
improvement, in America, is the disposition to re- \
sent every intimation tbat we can be any better than
we are at present. Few, perhaps no country, has
ever endured so much evil-disposed and unmerited
abuse as our own. It is not difficult to trace the
reasons, and every American should meet it witb a
just and manly indignation. But, being deemed a
nation of rogues ; barbarous, and manifesting the
vices of an ancestry of convicts, is a very different
thing from standing at the head of civilization. This
tendency to repel every suggestion of inferiority is
one of tbe surest signs of provincial habits ; it is
exactly tbe feeling witb whicb the resident of the
village resents v«^hat he calls tbe airs of tbe towm,
and tbat which the inland trader brings witb bim
among those whom he terms the " dandies" of the
sea-board. In short, it is the jealousy of inferiority,
on the exciting points, whatever may be the merits
of its subject in other matters, and furnishes, of
itself, the best possible proof that there is room for
amendment. The French have a clever and pithy
saying, tbat of — " On peut tout dire, di un grand
peuple." " One may tell all to a great nation."
JVote. — Every one was telling me that I should find the coun
try so altered, after an absence of eight years, that I should not
know it. Altered, indeed, 1 found it ; but not quite so evidently
improved. It struck me tbat there was a vast expansion of me
diocrity, that was well enough iu itself, but which was so over
whelming as nearly to overshadow every thing that once stood
prominent, as more excellent. This was, perhaps, no more than
a natural consequence of the elasticity and growth of a young

52 FRANCE.
vigorous, community, which, in its aggregate character, as in that
of its individuals, must pass through youth to arrive at manhood.
Still it was painful, and doubly so, to one coming from Europe.
I saw the towns increased, more tawdry than ever, but absolutely
¦with less real taste than they had in my youth. The art of paint
ing alone appeared to me to have made any material advances in
the right direction, if one excepts increase in wealth, and in the
facilities to create wealth. The steam-boats were the only objects
that approached magnificence, but while they had increased in
show, they had Jess comfort and respectability. The tavems, as
a whole, had deteriorated, though the three first I happened to
enter might well compete 'with a very high class of European
inns, viz. Head's, Barnum's, and Gadsby's.

FRANCE. 53

LETTER III.

To James Stevenson, Esquire, Albany.
I CANNOT tell you whence tbe vulgar notions that
we entertain of tbe French, which, with many other
pernicious prejudices have made a part of our great
inheritance from England, bave been originally ob
tained. Certainly I have seen no thing, nor any
person, after a long residence in the country, to
serve as models to the flippant marquis, the over
dressed courtiers, or the petites maitresses of the
English dramatists. Even a French perruquier is
quite as homely and plain a personage as an English
or an American barber. But these Athenians grossly
caricature themselves as well as tbeir neighbours.
Although Paris is pretty well garnished with Eng
lisb of all degrees, from the Duke down, it has
never yet been my luck to encounter an English
dandy. Now and then one meets with a " dresser,"
a man wbo thinks mdre of his appearance than be
comes his manhood, or than comports with good
breeding ; and occasionally a woman is seen who is ,
a mere appendage to her attire, but, I am persuaded,
that, as a rule, neither of these vulgar classes exists,
among people of any condition, in either country.
5*

54 FRANCE.
It is impossible for me to say what changes the revo
lution, and the wars, and the new notions, may bave
produced in France, hut there is no sufficient reason
for believing that tbe present cropped and fringeless,
be-wbiskered, and laceless generation of, France,.
differs more from their be-wigged, belaced and pow
dered predecessors, than the men and women of
any pther country differ from their particular ances
tors. Boys wore cock'd hats, and breeches, and
swords, in America, previously to the revolution ;
and our immediate fathers flourished in scarlet coats,
powder, ruffled fingers, and embroidered waistcoats.
The manners of the continent of Europe are more
finished than those ofEngland, and, while quiet and
simplicity are the governing rules of good-breeding
every where, even in unsophisticated America, this
quiet and simplicity is more gracious and more
graceful in France than in the neighbouring island.
As yet, I see no other difference, in mere deport
ment, thougb there is abundance when one goes into
the examination of character.
I bave met with a good many people of the old
court at Paris, and, though now and tben there is a
certain rouS atmosphere about them, both men and
women, as if too much time had been passed at Co--
blentz, they haive generally, in other respects, been
models of elegant demeanor. Usually tbey are- sim
ple, dignified, and yet extremely gracious^-gracious
without the appearance of affability,- a quality that '
is almost always indicative of a consciousness of su
periority. The predominant fault of manner her&'

PRANCE. 55
is too strong a hand in applying flattery, but this-
is as much the fault of the head as of breeding.
The French are fond of hearing pleasant things.
They say themselves that " a Frenchman goes into
society to make himself agreeable, and an English
man to make himself disagreeable," and tbe dire is'
not altogether without foundation in truth. I never
met a Frenchman, in society bere, who appeared to'
wish to enhance bis importance by what are called
" airs," though a coxcomb in feeling is an animal
not altogether unknown to the natural history of
Paris, nor is tbe zoological science of M. Cuvier in
dispensable to his discovery.
I shall probably surprise you with one of my
opinions. I think tbe population of Paris, physic
ally speaking, finer than that of London. Fine men
and fine women are, by no means, as frequent, after
allowing for the difierence in whole numbers, in the
French, as in the English capital, but, neither are-
there as many miserable, pallid and squahd objects.
The French are a smaller race than the English,-
much smaller than the race of Englisb gentlemeUy
so many of wbom congregate at London ; but the'
population of Paris has a sturdy, healthful look, that
I do not think is by any means as general in Lon
don. In inaking this comparison, allowance must be
made for the better dress ofthe English, and for their
fogs, whose effect is to bleach the skin and to give a
colour that has no necessary connexion with the
springs of life, although the female portion of the'
population of Paris has probably as much colour

56- PRANCE.
as that of London. It might possibly be safer to
say that the female population of Paris is finer than
that of London, though I think on the whole the
males may be included, also. I do not mean by
this, that there is relatively as much female beauty
in Paris as in London, for in this respect the latter
has immeasurably the advantage, but, looks apart,
that the physique of the French of Paris is supe
rior to that of the English of London. The popu
lation of Paris is a favourable specimen of that of
tbe kingdom, wbile that of London, Westminster
excepted, is not at all above the level of the entire
country, if, indeed, it be as good.*
The very general notion, which exists in America,
that the French are a slightly-built, airy people, and
that their women, in particular, are thin and with
out embonpoint, is a most extraordinary one, for
there is not a particle of foundation for it. The
women of Paris are about as tall as the women of
America, and could a fair sample of the two nations
be placed in the scaless, I have no doubt it would be
• This opinion remains the same in the writer, who, between
\ the years 1806 and 1833, has been sbc times in London, and be-
! tween the years 1826 and 1833, five times in Paris. In 1833, he
left Paris for London, sailing for home from the latter place. A
few days after his arrival he went to Washington, wherc, during
the session of Congress, dress and air not considered, he thought
he had never met so large a proportion of fine men, in any part
of the world. He was particularly struck with their size, as was
an American friend who was with him, and who had also passed'
many years abroad, having left Liverpool the same day the writer'
Sailed ftom Portsmouth.

FRANCE. 57
found that the French women would outweigh the
Americans in the proportion of six to five. Instead
of being meagre, they are compactly built, with
good busts, inclining to be full, and well limbed, as
any one may see, who will take the trouble to walk
the streets after a hard shower ; for, as Falstaff told
Prince Henry, "You are straight enough in the
shoulders : you care not who sees your back." In
deed, I know no females to whom the opinion
which we entertain of the French women may bet
ter apply than to our own, and yet I know none
who are so generally well-lookrng.
The French are not a handsome nation. Personal
beauty in either sex is rare : there is a want of sim
plicity, of repose, of dignity, and even of harmon'ii-
ous expression, what they tbemselves call finesse,
in their countenances, and yet the liveliness of the
eyes and tbe joyous character of their looks, render
them agreeable. You are not to understand from
this that great' personal beauty does not exist in
France, however, for there are so many exceptions-
to the rule, that they have occasionally made me
hesitate about believing it a rule at all. The
French quite often possess a feature in great perfec
tion, that is very rare in England, where personal
beauty is so common in both sexes. It is in the
mouth, and particularly in the smile. Want of
finesse about the mouth is a general European de
ficiency (the Italians have more of it than any other
people I know), and it is as prevalent an advantage
in America. But the races of Saxon root fail in the

^^ FRANCE.
chin, which wants nobleness and volume. Here, it
IS quite common to see profiles that would seem in
their proper places on a Roman coin.
Although female beauty is not common in France-,
when it is found, it is usually of a very high order.
The sweet, cherub-like, guileless expression, that be
longs to the English female face, and through it,
to the American, is hardly ever, perhaps never, met
with here. The French countenance seldom con
veys the idea of extreme, infantile, innocence-. Even
in the children there is a manner, which, while it
does not absolutely convey an impression of an ab
sence of the virtues, I think leaves less conviction
of its belonging to the soul of the being, than the
peculiar look I mean. One always sees woman ;
modest, amiable, spirituel, feminine and attractive,
if you will,, in a French girl ; while one sometimes
sees an angel in a young English or American face*
I have no allusion now to religious education, or to
religious feelings, which are quite as general in the
sex, particularly the young of good families, under
their characteristic distinctions, here, as anywhere
else. In this particular, the great diffei'ence is, that
in America it is religion, and in Franee it is infidel
ity, that is metaphysical.
There is a coquetish prettiness that is quite eom
mon in France, in which air and manner are min
gled with a certain sauciness of expression> that is
not easily described, but which, while it blends well
enough with the style of the face, is rather pleasing
than captivating. It marks the peculiar beauty of

PRANCE. 59
the grisette, who, with her little cap, hands stuck
in the pockets of her apron, mincing walk, coquet
ish eye, and well-balanced bead, is a creature per
fectly sui generis. Such a girl is more like an
actress imitating the character, than one is apt to
imagine the character itself I have met with imi
tators of these roguish beauties in a higher station,
such as the wives and daughters of the industrious
classes, as it is the fashion to call them here, and
even among the banking community, but never
among women of condition, whose deportment in
France, whatever may be their morals, is usually
marked by gentility of air, and a perfectly good
tone of manner, always excepting 'that small taint
of rouiism to which I have already alluded, and
which certainly must have come &om the camp and
emigration. The highest style of tbe French beauty is the
classical. I cannot recall a more lovely picture, a
finer union of tbe grand and the feminine, than the
Duchesse de  , in full dress, at a carnival ball,
where she shone peerless among hundreds of the
ilite of Europe. I see her now, with her small,
well-seated head ; her large dark, brilliant eye rivet
ed on the mazes of a Polognnaise, danced in charac
ter ; her hair, black as the raven's wing, clustering
over a brow of ivory ; her graceful form slightly in
clining forward in delighted and graceful attention ;
her features just Grecian enough to be a model of
delicate beauty, just Roman enough to be noble ; her
colour heightened to that of youth, by the heat of

60 PRANCE.
the room, and her costume, in which all the art of
Paris was blended with a critical knowledge of the
just and the beconiing. And yet this woman was
a grandmother !
The men of France bave the same physical and
the same conventional peculiarities as the women.
They are short, but sturdy. Including all France^ for
there is a material difference in this respect between
the nortb and the south, I should think the average
stature of tbe French m,en, (not women) to be quite
an inch and a half below the average stature of
America, and possibly two inches. At home, I did
not find myself greatly above the medium heigbt,
and in a crowd I was always compelled to stand on
tip-toe to look over the heads of those around me ;
whereas, here, I am evidently un grand, and can
see across the Champs Ely sies, without any diffi
culty. You may remember that I stand, as near as
may be, to five feet ten ; it follows that five feet ten
is rather a tall man in France. You are not to sup
pose, however, that there are not occasionally men
of great stature in this country. One of the largest
men I have ever seen, appears daily in the garden
of the Tuileries, and I am told he is a Frenchman
,of one of the north-eastern provinces. That part of
the kingdom is German, rather than French, how
ever, and the population still retain most of the pe
culiarities of their origin.
The army has a look of service and activity,
rather than of force. I shouldthink it mote formi
dable by its manosuvres than its charges. Indeed,

PRANCE. 61
the tactics of Napoleon, who used the legs of his
troops more than their muskets, aiming at concen
trating masses on important points, goes to show that
he depended on alertness instead of bottom. This
is just the quality that would be most likely to pre
vail against your methodical, slow-thinking, and
slow-moving German, and I make no question, the
short, sturdy, nimble legs ofthe little warriors of this
country have gained many a field.
A general officer, himself a six-footer, told me,
lately, that they had found the tall men of very little
use in the field, from their inability to endure the
fatigues of a campaign. When armies shall marcb
on rail roads, and manoeuvre by steam, the grena
diers will come in play again ; but, as it is, the French
are admirably adapted by %i^vc physique, \.o run the
career that history has given them. The Romans
resembled them in this respect, Cicero admitting that
many people excelled them in size, strength, beauty,
and even learning, thougb he claimed a superiority
for his countrymen, on the score of love of country
and a reverence for the gods. The French are cer
tainly patriotic enough, though their reverence for
the gods may possibly be questioned.
The regiments of the guards, the heavy cavalry,
and the artillery are all filled with men chosen with
some care. These troops would, I think, form about
an average American army, on tbe score of size.
The battalions of the line receive the rest. As much
attention is bestowed in adapting tbe duty to the phy
sique, and entire corps are composed of men of as
Vol. II. 6

G2 PRANCE.
nearly as possible the same physical force, some of
the regiments certainly make but an indifferent
^gure, as to dimensions, while others appear parti
cularly well. Still, if not overworked, I should
think these short men would do good service. I
think I have seen one or two regiments, in whicb
the average height has not exceeded five feet three
inches. The chances of not being hit in such a corps
"are worth something, for the proportion, compared to
the chances in a corps of six-footers, is as sixty-three
to seventy-two, or is one-eighth in favour of the
Lilliputians. I believe the rule for retreating is
when one-third of the men are hors de combat.
Now, supposing a regiment of three thousand gre
nadiers would be obliged to retire with a loss of one
thousand men, the little fellows, under the same fire,
should bave, at the same time, two thousand one
hundred and thirty-seven sound men left, and of
course, unless bullied out of it, they ' ought to gain
the day.

PRANCE. 63

LETTER IV.

To James E. De Kay, Esquire.
It appears to be the melancholy lot of humanity,
that every institution which ingenuity can devise shall
be perverted to an end different from the legitimate.
If we plan a democracy, the craven wretch who,
in a despotism, would be the parasite of a monarch,
heads us off, and gets the best of it under the pre
tence of extreme love for the people ; if we flatter
ourselves that by throwing power into the hands of
the rich and noble, it is put beyond the temptati9n
to abuse it, we soon discover that rich is a term of
convention, no one thinking he has enough until he
has all, and that nobility of station has no absolute
connexion with nobleness of spirit or of conduct ;
if we confide all to one, indolence, favouritism, and
indeed the impossibility of supervision throws us
again into the hands of the demagogue, in his new,
or rather true character, of a courtier. So it is with
life ; in politics, religion, arms, arts and letters, yea,
even the republic of letters, as it is called, is the prey
of schemers and parasites, and things in faet, are very
different from things as they .seem to be.
¦ " In the seventeen years that I have been a mar-

FRANCE.
^ an," said Captain  of the British navy,
*" I have passed but seventeen months with my wife
and family." " But, now there is peace, you will
pass a few years quietly in America, to look after
your affairs," said I, by way of awkward condolence.
"No, indeed; I shall. return to England as soon as
possible, to make up for lost time. I have been kept
so much at sea, that they have forgotten me at home,
and duty to my children requires that I should be
on the spot." In the simplicity of my heart, I
thought this strange, and yet nothing could be more
true. Captain  was a scion of the Englisb
aristocracy, and looked to his sword for his fortune.
Storms,fagging, cruising, all were of small avail com
pared to interest at the admiralty, and so it is with
all things else, whether in Europe or America. The
man who really gains the victory, is lucky, indeed^
if he obtain the meed of his skill and valour. You
may be curious to know of what all this is h pro
pos? To be frank with you, I have visited the
French Academy ; ces quarante qui ont I'esprit
comme quatre, and, havd come away fully impress
ed with the vanity of human things I
The occasion was the reception of two or three
new members, when, according to a settled usage,
the successful candidates pronounced eulogies on
their predecessors. You may be curious to know
what impression the assembled genius of France
produced on a stranger from the western world. I
can only answer, none. The academy of the sciences
can scarcely ever be less than distinguished in such

FRANCE. fi5
a nation, but when I came to look about me, ami- to
inquire after the purely literary men, I was forcibly
struck with the feebleness ofthe catalogue of names.
Not one in five was at all known to me, and very
few even of those who were, could properly be class
ed among the celebrated writers of the day. As
France has many very clever men who were not on
the list, I was desirous of knowing the reason, and
then learned that intrigue, court-favour, and " log
rolling," to use a quaint American term,made mem
bers of the academy as well as members of the
cabinet. A moment's reflection migbt have told
me it could not well be otherwise. It would be so in
America, if we were burthened with an academy ; it
is so as respects collegiate honours ; and what reason
is there for supposing it should not be so in a country
so notoriously addicted to intrigue as France?
One ought not to be the dupe of these things.
There are a few great names, distinguished by com
mon consent, whose claims it is necessary to respect.
Tbese men form the front of every honorary insti
tution ; if there are to be knights and nobles, and
academicians, they must be ofthe number; not that
such distinctions are necessary to them, but that
they are necessary to the distinctions ; after which
the oi polloi are enrolled as they can find interest.
Something very like an admission of this is con
tained in an inscription on the statue of Moliere,
which stands in the vestibule of the hall of the Aca
demy, which frankly says, thougb " we are not neces-
sar)^ to your glory, you are necessary to ours." He
6*

66 PRANCE.
was excluded from the forty, by intrigue, on account
of his profession being that of a player. Shak
speare, himself, wonld bave fared no better. Now,
fancy a country in whieh there was a club of
select authors, that should refuse to enrol the name
of Willfam Shakspeare on their list !
The sitting was well attended, and I dare ^ay the
addresses were not amiss, thougb there is something
exceedingly tiresome in one of these eulogies, that is
perpetrated by malice prepense. The audience
applauded very much, after the fashion of those im
promptus whicb are made h loisir, and I could not
but fancy that a good portion of the assembly began
to think the academy was what the cockneys call a
rum place, before they heard the last of it. We
bad a poem by Comte Daru, to which I confess I
did not listen, notwithstanding my personal respect
for the distinguished writer, simply because I was
most heartily wearied before be began, and because
I can never make any thing of French poetry, in
the academy or out of it.
It would be unjust to speak lightly of any part of
the French academy, without a passing remark in
honour of those sections of it, to which honour is
due. In these sections may be included, I think,
that of the arts, as well as that of the sciences. The
number of respectable artists that exist in this country
is perfectly astonishing. The connisseurs, I believe,
dispute the merits of the school, and ignorant as I
am, in such matters, I can myself see that there is a
prevalent disposition, both in statuary and painting,

FRANCE. 67
to sacrifice simplicity to details, and that the thea
trical is sometimes mistaken for the grand ; but,
after admitting both these faults, and some defects in
colouring, there still remains a sufficient accumula
tion of merit, to create wonder in one, like myself,
who has not had previous opportunities of ascertain
ing the affluence of a great nation in this respect.
As regards the scientific attainments ofthe French,
it is unnecessary to say anything, though I believe
you will admit that they ought at least to have the
effect of counteracting some of the prejudices about
dancing-masters, petits maitres, and perruquiers,
that have descended to us, through English novels
and plays. Such a man as La Place, alone, is suffi
cient to redeem an entire people from these imputa
tions. The very sight of one of his demonstrations
will give common men, like ourselves, headaches,
and you will remember that having successfully got
through one of the toughest of them, he felicitated
himself that there vs^as but one other man living who
could comprehend it, now it was made.
What a noble gift would it have been to his
fellow-creatures, had some competent follower of
La Place bestowed on them a comprehensive but
popular compend of the leading astronomical facts,
to be -used as one of the most ordinary school
books. Apart from the general usefulness of this
peculiar species of knowledge, and the chances-
that, by thus popularizing the study, sparks might be
struck from the spirit of some dormant Newton, I

68 FRANCE.
know no inquiry that has so strong a tendency to
raise the mind from the gross and vulgar pursuits of
the world, to a contemplation of the power and de
signs of God. It has often happened to me, when,
filled with wonder and respect for the daring and art
of man, I have been wandering through the gorge
ous halls of some palace, or other public edifice, that
an orrery or a diagram of the planetary system has
met my eye, and recalled me-, in a moment, from
the consideration of art, and its intrinsic feebleness,
to that of the sublimity of nature. At such times,
this globe has appeared so insignificant, in com
parison with the mighty system of which it
forms so secondary a part, that I have felt a truly
philosophical indifference, not to give it a better
term, for all it contained. Admiration of human
powers, as connected with the objects around me, has
been lost in admiration ofthe mysterious spirit which
could penetrate the remote and sublime secrets ofthe
science ; and, on no other occasions,have I felt so pro
found a conviction of my own isolated insignificance,
or so lively a perception of the stupendous majesty
of the Deity.
Passing by the common and conceded facts of
the dimensions of the planets, and the extent of their
orbits, what thoughts are awakened by the sugges
tion that the fixed stars are the centres of other so
lar systems, and that the eccentric comets are links
to connect them all, in one great and harmonious
design ! The astronomers tell us, that some of these
comets have no visible nucleuses, that the fixed stars-

FRANCE. 69
are seen through their apparent densest parts, and
that they can be nothing but luminous gases ; while,
on the other hand, others do betray dark compact
bodies of more solid matter. Fixed stars unaccount
ably disappear, as if suddenly struck out of their
places. Now, vve know that aerolites are formed in
the atmosphere, by a natural process, and descend in
masses of pure iron. Why may not the matter of
one globe, dispersed into its elements by the fusion of
its consummation, reassemble,in the shape of comets,
gaseous at first, and slowly increasing and conden
sing in the form of solid matter, varying in their
course as they acquire the property of attraction,
until they finally settle into new and regular pla
netary orbits, by the power of their own masses,
thus establishing a regular reproduction of worlds
to meet the waste of eternity? Were the earth
dissolved into gases, by fusion, what would become
of its satellite, the moon? Might not the principles
of our planet, thus volatilized, yield to its nearer at
traction, assemble around that orb, which, losing its
governing influence, should be left to wander in in
finite space, subject to a new but eccentric law of
gravity, until finally reduced again within tbe limits
of some new system ? How know we that such is
not the origin of comets ?
Many astronomers have believed that the solar
system, in company with thousands of other sys
tems, revolves around a common centre, in orbits so
vast as to defy computation, and a religious senti
ment might well suggest that this centre of the uni-

70 PRANCE.
verse is the throne of the Most High. Here we
may fancy the Deity seated in power,and controlling,
by his •will, the movements of worlds, directing
each to the completion of his own mysterious and
benevolent designs.
It certainly might be dangerous to push our spe
culations too far, but there can be no risk in fami
liarizing men to consider the omnipotence of God,
and to feel their own comparative insignificance.
What ideas of vastness are obtained by a knowledge
of the fact that there exist stars in the firmament,
which ordinary telescopes show us only as single
bodies, but which, on examination by using re
flectors of a higher power, are found to be' clusters
of orbs — clusters of worlds — or clusters of suns!
These, again, are found to be binary stars, or two
stars revolving round each other, while they are
thought, at the same time, to revolve around their
central sun, and accompanied by this again, pro
bably, to revolve around the great common centre
ofall! But, in the words of the quaint old song, I must
cry " Holla ! my fancy, whither dost thou go ?"
Before taking leave of the stars altogether, how
ever, I will add that the French, and I believe all
Europe, with the exception of England, follow the
natural order of time, in counting the seasons. Thus
the spring commences with the vernal equinox, and
the autumn with the autumnal. This division of
the year leaves nearly the whole of March as a win
ter month, June as a spring month, and September

FRANCE. 71
as belonging to the summer. No general division
of the seasons can suit all latitudes ; but the equi
noxes certainly suggest the only two great events of
the year,that equally affectthe entire sphere. Had the
old method of computing time continued, the sea
sons would gradually have made the circle of the
months, until their order was reversed, as they are
now known to be in the northern and southern
hemispheres. Quitting the Academy, which, with its schools of
the classical and the romantic, has tempted me to a
higher flight than I could have believed possible, let
us descend to the theatres of Paris. Talma was still
playing last year, when we arrived, and as in the case
of repentance,Iputoff avisitto the Thidtre Franf ais,
with a full determination to go, because it might be
made at any time. In the mean while, he fell ill and
died, and it never was my good fortune to see that
great actor. Mademoiselle Mars I have seen, and, cer
tainly, in her line of characters, I have never beheld
her equal. Indeed, it is scarcely possible to con
ceive of a purer, more severe, more faultless, and
yet more poetical representation of common nature,
than that which characterizes her art. Her acting
bas all the finish of high breeding, with just as much
feeling as is necessary to keep alive the illusion.
As for rant, there is not as much about ber whole
system, as would serve a common English, or Ameri
can actress, for a single " length."
To be frank witb you, so great is the superiority
of the French actors, in vaudevilles, the light opera,

72

PRANCE.

and genteel comedy, that I fear I have lost my taste
for the English stage. Of tragedy I say nothing,
for I cannot enter into the poetry of the country at
all, but, in all below it, these people, to my taste,
are immeasurably our superiors ; and by ours, you
know I include the English stage. The different
lines here, are divided among the different theatres,
so that if you wish to laugh, you can go to the Va-
riitis; to weep, to the Thidtre Francais; or, to
gape, to the Odeon. At the Porte St. Martin, one
finds vigorous touches of national character, and at
the Gymnase, the fashionable place of resort, just
at this moment, national traits polished by conven
tion. Besides these, there are many other theatres,
not one of which, in its way, can be called less than
tolerable. One can say but little in favour ofthe morals of too
many of the pieces represented here. In this parti
cular there is a strange obliquity of reason, arising
out of habitual exaggeration of feeling, that really
seems to disqualify most of the women, even, from
perceiving what is monstrous, provided it be senti
mental and touching. I was particularly advised,
to go to the TMdtre Madame to see a certain
piece, by a coterie of very amiable women, whom
I met the following night at a house where we
all regularly resorted, once a week. On entering,
they eagerly inquired if " I had not been charmed,
fescinated ; if any thing could be better played, or
more touching ?" Better played it could not easily
be, but I had been so shocked with the moral of the

PRANCE. 73
piece, that I could scarcely admire the acting. " The
moral ! This was the first time they had heard it
questioned." I was obliged to explain. A certain
person had been left the protector of a friend's
daughter, then an infant. He had the child edu
cated as his sister, and she grew to be a woman, ig
norant of her real origin. In the mean time, she
has offers of marriage, all of which she unaccounta
bly refuses. In fine, she was secretly cherishing a
passion for her guardian and supposed brother ; an
explanation is had, they marry, and the piece closes.
I objected to the probability of a well educated
young woman's falling in love with a man old
enough to be selected as her guardian, when she was
an infant, and against whom there existed the tri
fling objection of his being her own brother. " But,
he was not her brother-^not even a relative."
" True ; but she believed him to be her brother."
"And nature — do you count nature as nothing. — a
secret sentiment told ber be was not her brother."
"And use, and education, and an open sentiment,
and all the world, told her he was. Sueh a woman
was guilty of a revolting indelicacy and a heinous
crime, and no exaggerated representation of love,
a passion of great purity in itself, can ever do away
with the shocking realities of sueh a case."
I found no one to agree with me. He was not
her brother, and though his tongue, and all around
her, told her he was, her beart, that infallible guide,
told her the truth. What more could any reason
able man ask ?
Vol. II. 7

74

FRANCE.

It was h propos of this play, and of my objection
to this particular feature of it, that an exceedingly
clever. French woman laughingly told me she un
derstood there was no such thing as love in America.
That a people, of manners as artificial as the French,
should suppose that others, under tbe influence of
the cold formal exterior which the puritans have en
tailed on so large a portion of the republic, were
without strong feeling, is not altogether as irrational
as may at first appear. Art, in ordinary deport
ment, is both cause and effect. That which we ha
bitually affect to be, gets, in the end, to be so incor
porated with our natural propensities, as to form a
part of the real man. We all know that by disci
pline we can get the mastery of our strongest pas
sions, and, on the other band, by yielding to them
and encouraging them, that they soon get the mas
tery over us. Thus do a highly artificial people,
fond of, and always seeking, high excitement, come,
in time, to feel it^ artificially, as it were, by natural
impulses. I have mentioned the anecdote of the play, be
cause I think it characteristic of a tone of feeling
that is quite prevalent among a large class of the
French, though I am far from saying there is not a
class who would, at once, see the grave sacrifice of
principle that is involved, in building up the senti
ments of a fiction on such a foundation of animal
instinct. I find, on recollection, however, that Miss
Lee, in one of her Canterbury Tales, has made the
love of her plot hinge on a very similar incident.

FRANCE. 75
Surely, she must have been under the influence of
some of the German monstrosities that were so
much in vogue, about the time she wrote, for even
Juvenal would scarcely have imagined any thing
worse, as the subject of his satire.
You will get a better idea of the sentimentalism
that more or less influences the tastes of this coun
try, bowever, if I tell you that the ladies of the
coterie, in which the remarks on the amorous sister
were made, once gravely discussed, in my presence,
the question whether Madame de Stael was right or
wrong, in causing Corinne to go througb certain
sentimental experiences, as our canters call it at
home, on a clouded day, instead of choosing one on
wbich the sun was bright ; or, vice versd ; for I
really forget whether it was on the " windy side" of
sensibility, or not, that the daughter of Neckar was
supposed to have erred.
The first feeling is that of surprise at finding a
people so artificial in their ordinary deportment, so
chaste and free from exaggeration in their scenic
representations of life. But reflection will show us
that all finish has the effect of bringing us within
the compass of severe laws, and that the high taste
which results from cultivation repudiates all excess
of mere manner. The simple fact is, that an edu
cated Frenchman is a great actor all the while, and
that when he goes on the stage, he has much less to
do, to be perfect, than an Englishman who has
drilled himself into coldness, or an American who
looks upon strong expressions of feeling as affecta-

76 FRANCE.
tion. When the two latter commence the business
of playing assumed parts, they consider it as a nevy
occupation, and go at it so much in earnest, that
every body sees tbey are acting.*
You will remember, I say nothing in favour of
the French tragic representations. When a great
and an intellectual nation, like France, unites to ap
plaud images and' sentiments, that arfc communicated
through their own' peculiar forms of speech, it be
comes a stranger to distrust his own knowledge,
rather than their taste. I dare say that were I more
accustomed to the language, I might enjoy Corneille'
and Racine, and even Voltaire, for I can now greatly
enjoy Moliere ; but, to be honest in the matter, aill'
reciters of heroic French poetry appear to me to'de-
pend on a pompous declamation, to compensate for
the poverty of the idioms, and the want of noble
ness in the expressions. I never heard any one,
poet or actor, he who read his own verses, or he
who repeated those of others, who did not appear to
mouthj and all their tragic playing has had the air
of being on stilts. Napoleon has said from the sub
lime to the ridiculous it is but a step. This is
much truer in France than in most other coun
tries-, for the sublime is commonly so sublimated^
* Mr. Mathews and Mr. Power were the nearest to the neat-
acting of France of any male EngUsh performers the writer ever
saw. The first sometimes permitted himself to be led astray, by
the caricatures he was required to represent, and by the tastes of
his audience ; Hut the latter, so far as the writer bas seen hiin,
appears determined to be chaste, come what, come will.

j<-ii.aj?it;£i>

77

that it will admit of no great increase. Racine, in
a most touching scene, makes one of his heroic cha
racters offer to wipe off the tears of a heroine lest
they should discolour her rouge! I had a classmate
at college, who was so very ultra courtly in his
language, that he never forgot to say Mr. Julius
Caesar, and Mr. Homer.
There exists a perfect mania for letters through
out Europe, in this "piping time of peace." States
men, soldiers, peers, princes and kings, hardly think
themselves illustrated, until each has produced his
book. The world never before saw a tithe of the
names of people of condition, figuring in the cata
logues of its writers* " Some thinks he writes
Cinna ; he owns to- Panurge,?' applies to^ half the
people one meets in society. I was at dinner lately,
given by the Marquis de  ; when the table was
filled with peers, generals, ex-ministers, ex-ambas
sadors, naturalists, philosophers and statesmen of all
degrees. Casting my eyes round the circle, I was
struck with the singular prevalence of the caccethes
scribendi, among so many men of different educa
tions, antecedents, and pursuits. There was a sol
dier present who had written on taste, a politician
on the art of war, a diplomate who had dabbled in
poetry, and a jurist who pretended to enlighten the
world in ethics. It was the drollest assemblage in
the world, and suggested many queer associations,
for, I believe, the only man at table, who had not
dealt in ink, was an old Lieutenant-General, who
sat by me, and who, when I alluded to the circum-

78 PRANCE.
stance, strongly felicitated himself that he had es
caped the mania of the age, as itwas an illustration
of itself. Among the convives were Cuvier, Ville
main, Daru, and sevOral others who arc almost as
well known to science and letters.
Half the voluntary visits I receive, are preceded
by a volume of some sort or other, as a token of
my new acquaintance being a regularly initiated
member of the fraternity of the quill. Ih two or
three instances, I have been surprised at subsequently
discbvering that the regular profession of the writer
is arms, or some other pursuit, in which one would
scarcely anticipate so strong a devotion to lettersi
In short, such is the actual state of opinion in Eu
rope, that ohe is hardly satisfied with any amount,
or any quality of glory, until it is consummated by
that of having written a book. Napoleon closed
bis career vvith the quill, and his successor was
hardly on his throne, before he began to publish.
The principal officers of the Empire, and emi-
g'rh without number, have fairly set to work as so
many disinterested historians; and even a lady, who,
by way of abbreviation, is called " The Widow of
the Grand Army," is- giving us regularly volumes,
whose eccentricities and periodicity, as the astrono
mers say, can be reduced to known laws, by the use
of'figures; In the middle ages golden spurs were the object
of every man's ambition. Without them, neither
wealth, nor birth, nor power was properly esteemed;
and, at the present time, passing from the lance to

PRANCE. 79
the pen, from the casque and shield, to the ink
pot and fool's cap, vve all seek a passport from the
order of Letters. Does this augur good or evil, for
the world ? The public press of France is conduct
ed with great spirit and talents, on all sides. It has-
few points in common with our own, beyond the
mere fact of its general character. In America, a
single literary man, putting the best face on it, en
ters into a compact with some person bf practical
knowledge; a printer, perhaps, and together they
establish a newspaper, the mechanical part of which-
is- confided to the care of the latter partner, and the
intellectual to the former. In the country, half the
time, the editor isnootherthan the printer himself,
the division of labour not having yet reached even-
this important branch of industry. But looking to
the papers that are published in the towns, one man
of letters is a luxury about an American print.-
There are a few instances- in which there are two,
orthree; but, generally, the subordinates are little
more than scissor'smen. Now, it must be apparent,
at a glance, that no one individual can keep up the
character of a daily print, of any magnitude; the
drain on his knowledge and other resources being
too great. This, I take it, is the simple reason why
the press of America- ranks no higher than it does..
The business is too much divided; too much is re^
quired, and this, too, in a country where matters of
grave import are of rare occurrence, and in which
the chief interests are centered in the vulgar con
cerns of mere party politics, with little or no con''

80

FRANCE.

nection with great measures, or great principles.
You have only to fancy the superior importance
that attaches to the views of powerful monarchs,
the secret intrigues of courts, on whose results, per
haps, depend the fortunes of Christendom, andi the
serious and radical principles that are dependent on
the great changes of systems that are silently work
ing their way, in this part of the world, and which
involve material alterations in the very structure of
society, to get an idea of how much' more interest a
European journal, ceteris paribus, must be, com
pared to an American journal, by the nature of its
facts alone. It is true that we get a portion of these
facts, as light finally arrives from the remoter stars,
but mutilated, and necessarily shorn of much of their
interest, by their want of importance to our own
eountry. I had been in Europe some time, before
I could fully comprehend the reason why I was
ignorant of so many minor points of its political
history, for, from boyhood up, I had been an atten
tive reader of all that touched this part of the world,
as it appeared in our prints. By dint of inquiry,
however, I believe I have come at the fact. The
winds are by no means as regular as the daily prints;
and it frequently happensj especially in the vvinter
and spring months, that five or, six packets arrive
nearly together, bringing with them the condensed
intelligence of as many weeks. Now, newspaper
finders notoriously seek the latest news, and in the
hurry and confusion of reading and selecting, and
bringing out, to meet the wants^ of the day, many of

FRANCE. 81
the connecting links are lost, readers get imperfect
notions of men and things, and, from a want of a
complete understanding of the matter, the mind
gives up, without regret, the little and un.satisfacto-
ry knowledge it had so casually obtained. I take
it, this is a principal eause of the many false notions
that exist among, us, on the subject ofEurope and
its events.
In France, a. paper is established by a regular
subscription of capital ; a principal editor is selected,
and he is-commonly supported, .in the case of a lead
ing journal, by four or five paid assistants. In ad
dition to this formidable corps, many of the most
distinguished men of France are known to contri
bute freely to the columns' of the prints in the inte
rest of their cause..
Tbe laws- of France compel a journal that has ad
mitted any statement involving facts, concerning an
individual, to publish his reply, that the antidote
may meet the poison. This is a regulation that we
might adopt with great advantage to truth and the
character of the country.
There is not,, at this moment, within my know
ledge, a single critical literary journal, of received-.
authority, in all France. This is a species of litera
ture to which the French pay but little attention,
just now, although. many of the leading, daily prints
contain- articles on- the principal works, as they ap
pear. By the little that has come under my observation,
I should say the fraudulent and disgusting systera

82

FRANCE.

of puffing and of abusing, as interest pr pique dic
tates, is even carried to a greater length in France,
than it is in either England or America. The fol
lowing anecdote, which relates to myself, may give
you some notion of the modus operandi.
All the works I had written previously to coming
to Europe, had been taken from the English edi
tions, and translated, appearing simultaneously with
their originals. Having an intention to cause a new
book to be printed in English, in Paris, for the sake
of reading the proofs, the necessity was felt of get
ting some control over the translation, lest, profiting
by the interval necessary to send the sheets home to
be reprinted, it might appear as the original book.
I knew that the sheets of previous books had been
purchased in England, and I accordingly sent a pro
position to the publishers, that the next bargain
should be made with me. Under the impression
that an author's price would be ask«d, they took the
alarm, and made difficulties. Finding me firm, and
indisposed to yield to some threats of doing as they
pleased, the matter was suspended for a few days-
Just at this moment, I received, through the post, a
single number of an obscure newspaper, whose ex
istence, until then, was quite unknown to me. Sur
prised at such an attention, I was curious to know
the contents. The journal contained an article on.
my merits and demerits as a writer, the latter being,
treated with a good deal of freedom. When one^
gets a paper, in this manner, containing abuse of
himself, he is pretty safe in believing its opinions

FRANCE. 83
dishonest. But I had even better evidence than
common, in this particular case, for I bappened to
be extolled for the manner in which I had treated
the character of Franklin, a personage whose name
e'ven had never appeared in anything I had written.
This, of course, settled the character of the critique,
and the next time I saw the individual who had
acted as agent in the negotiation just mentioned, I
gave him the paper, and told him I was half dis
posed to raise my price on account of the pitiful
manoeuvre it contained. We had already come to
terms, the publishers finding that the price was little
more than nominal, and the answer was a virtual
conclusion that the article was intended to affect my
estimate of the value ofthe intended work in France,
and to bring me under subjection to the critics.*
I apprehend that few books are brought before
the public in France, dependent only on their in
trinsic merits, and the system of intrigue, which
predominates in every thing, is as active in this as
in other interests.
>^In France, a book that penetrates to the provinces,
* The writer suffers this anecdote to stand as it was written
nine years since ; hut since his return home, he has discovered that
we are in no degree behind the French in the corruption and
frauds that render the pursuits of a writer one of the most humi
liating and revolting in which a man of any pride of character can
engage, unless he resolutely maintains his independence, a teme
rity that is certaiu to be resented by all those, who, unequal to
going alone in the paths of literatnre, seek their ends by clinging
to those who can, either as pirates or robbers.

84

PRANCE.

may be said to be popular ; and, as for a book coming
from the provinces, it is almost unheard of. The
despotism of the trade, on this point, is unyielding.
Paris appears to deem itself the arbiter in all mat
ters of taste and literature, and it is almost as un
likely that a new fashion should come from Lyons,
or Bordeaux, or Marseilles, as that a new work
•should be received with favour, that was published
in either of those towns. The approbation of Paris
is indispensable, and the publishers of the capital,
-assisted by their paid corps of puffers and detractors,
are sufficiently powerful to prevent that potent pub
lic, to whom all affect to defer, from judging for
itself. ^
We have lately had a proof, here, of the unwil
lingness of the Parisians to permit others to decide
for them? in any thing relating to taste, in a case
that refers to us Americans. Madame Malibran ar
rived from America a few months since. In Europe
she was unknown, but the great name of her father
stood her in stead. Unluckily, it was whispered
that she had met with great success in America.
America ! and this, too, in conjunction with music
and the opera ! The poor woman was compelled
to appear under the disadvantage of having brought
an American reputation with her, and, seriously, this
single fact went nigh to destroy her fortunes. Those
wretches who, as Coleridge expresses it, are "ani
malculse, who live by feeding on the body of geni
us," affected to be displeased, and the public hesi
tated, at their suggestions, about accepting an artist

PRANCE. 85
from the "colonies," as they still have the audacity
to call the great Republic. I have no means of
knowing what sacrifices were made to the petty
tyrants of the press, before tbis woman, who has the
talents necessary to raise her to the summit of her
profession, was enabled to gain the favour of a
"generous and discerning public." !

Vol. II.

S6 FRANCE.

LETTER V.

To James Stevenson, Esquire, Albanv.
We have been the residents of a French village
ever since the first of June, and it is now drawing
to the close of October. We had already passed the
greater part of a summer, an entire autumn, winter
and spring, within the walls of Paris, and then we
thought we might indulge our tastes a little, by re
treating to the fields, to catch a glimpse of country
life. You will smile when I add that we are only a
league from the Barrilre de Clichy. This is the
reason I have not before spoken of the removal, for
we are in town tbree or four times every week, and
never miss an occasion, when there is any thing to
be seen. I shall now proceed, however, to let you
into the secret of our actual situation.
I passed the month of May examining the envi
rons of the capital in quest of a house. As this was
an agreeable occupation, we were in no hurry, but
having set up my cabriolet, we killed two birds
with one stone, by making ourselves familiarly ac
quainted with nearly every village, orliamlet, within
three leagues of Paris, a distance beyond which I
did not wish to go.

PRANCE. 87
On the side of St. Cloud, whicb embraces Passy,
Auteuil, and all the places that encircle the Bois de
Boulogne, the Hyde Park of Paris, there are very
many pleasant residences, but, from one cause or an
other, no one suited us, exactly, and we finally took
a house in the village of St. Ouen, the Runnymeade
of France. When Louis XVIII. came, in 1814, to
his capital, in the rear of the allies, he stopped for a
few days at St. Ouen, a league from the barriers,
where there was a small chdteau that was the pro
perty of the crown. Here he was met by M. de
Talleyrand and others, and hence he issued the cele
brated charter, that isto render France, forevermore,
a constitutional country.
The chdteau has since been razed, and a pavilion
erected in its place, which bas been presented to the
Comtesse de  , a lady, who, reversing the ordi
nary lot of courtiers, is said to cause majesty to live
in the sunshine of her smiles. What an appropriate
and encouraging monument to rear on the birth
place of French liberty ! At the opposite extremity
of the village, is another considerable house, that
was once the dwelling of M. Neckar, and is now
the property and country residence of M. Ternaux,
or the Baron Ternaux^ if it were polite to style
him thus, the most celebrated manufacturer of France.
I say polite, for the mere fanfaronade of nobility
is little in vogue here. The wags tell a story of
some one, who was formally announced as " Mons.
le Marquis d'un tel," turning short round on the
servant, and exclaiming with indignation, "Mavr

88

PRANCE.

quis, toi-meme !" But this story savours of the
Bonapartists, for, as the Emperor created neither
marquis nor vicomtes, there was a sort of affecta
tion of assuming these titles at the restoration, as
proofs of belonging to the old rhgime.
St. Ouen is a cluster of small, mean, stone houses,
stretched along the right bank of the Seine, which,
after making a circuit of near twenty miles, winds
round so close to the town, again, that they are actually
constructing a basin, near the village, for the use of
the capital ; it being easier to wheel articles from
this point to Paris, than to contend with the
current and to thread its shoals. In addition to the
two bouses named, however, it has six or eight re
spectable abodes between the street and the river,
one of which is our own.
This place became a princely rosi<l«noa„aliQiit the
year 1300, since which time it has been more or
less frequented as such, down to the 4th June, 1814,
the date of the memorable charter.* Madame de
* The chateau of St. Ouen, rather less than t-wo centuries
since, passed into the possession of the Due de Gesvre. Du-
laure gives the following, a part of a letter from this noble
man, as a specimen of the education of a Due, in the seven
teenth century. " Monsieur, me trouvant oblige de randre une
bonne party de largan que mais enfant ont pris de peuis qu'il
sont au campane, monsieur, cela moblige a vous suplier tres hum-
blemant monsieur de me faire la grasse de commander monsieur
quant il vous plera que lon me pay la capitertery de Monsaux
monsieur vous asseurant que vous mobligeres fort sansiblement
monsieur comme ausy de me croire avec toute sorte de respec.
etc." This beats Jack Cade, out and out. The great con-

PRANCE. , 89
Pompadour possessed the chdteau in 1745, so you
see it has been " dust to dust" with this place, as
with all that is frail.
The village of St. Ouen, small, dirty, crowded
and unsavoury as it is, has a placCj like every other
French village. When we drove into it, to look at
the house, I confess to having laughed outright, at
tbe. idea of inhabiting such a hole. Two large joor^e-
cochtres, however, opened from the squarej and we
were admitted, through the best-looking of the two,
into a spacious and an extremely neat court. On
one side of the gate was a lodge for a porter, and,
on the other, a building to contain gardener's tools,
plants, &c. The walls that separate it from the
square and the adjoining gardens, are twelve or
fourteen feet high, and once within them, the world
is completely excluded. The width of the grounds
does not exceed a, hundred and fifty feet; the length,
the form being that of a parallelogram, may be three
hundred, or a little more ; and yet in these narrow
limits, which are planted ii I' Anglaise, so well is
every thing contrived, that we appear to have
abundance of room. The garden terminates in a
terrace that overhangs the river, and, from this
point, the eye ranges over a wide extent of beauti
ful plain, that is bounded by fine bold hills which are
teeming with gray villages and bourgs.
netable Jim\e de Montmorency could not write his name, and,
as his signature became necessary, his secretary stood over
his shoulder to tell him when he had made enough pies de
mouche to answer the pui-pose.

90

PRANCE.

The house is of stone, and not without elegance.
It may be ninety feet in length, by some forty in
width. The entrance is into a vestibule, wbich has
the offices on the right, and the great staircase on the
left. The principal salon is in front. This is a
good room, near thirty feet long, fifteen or sixteen
high, and has three good windows, that open on the
garden. The billiard-room communicates on one side,
and the saile h manger on the other ; next the latter
come the offices again, and next the billiard-room is
a very pretty little boudoir. Up stairs, are suites, of
bed-rooms and dressing-rooms ; every thing is neat,
and the house is in excellent order, and well fur
nished for a country residence. Now, all this I get
at a hundred dollars a month, for the five summer
months. There are also a carriage house, and sta
bling for three horses. The gardener and porter are
paid by the proprietor. The village, however, is
not in much request, and the rent is thought to be
low. One of the great advantages that is enjoyed by a
residence in Europe, are the facilities of this nature.
Furnished apartments, or furnished houses, can be
had in almost every town of any size ; and, owning
your own linen ahd plate, nearly every other neces
sary is found you. It is true> that one sometimes
misses comforts to which he has been accustomed
in his own house ; but, in France, many little things
are found, it is not usual to meet with elsewhere.
Thus, no principal, bed-room is considered properly
furnished in a good house, without a handsome se-

FRANCE. 91
cretary, and a bureau. These two articles are as i
much matters of course, as are the eternal two rooms |
and folding doors, in New York.
This, then, has been our Tusculum since June.
M. Ternaux enlivens tbe scene, occasionally, by a
dinner; and he has politely granted us permission
to walk in his grounds, which are extensive and
well laid out, for the old French style. We have
a neighbour on our left, name unknown, who gives
suppers in his garden, and concerts that really are
worthy of the grand opera. Occasionally, we get
a song, in a female voice, that rivals the best of
Madame Malibran's. On our right lives a staid
widow, whose establishment is as tranquil as our own.
One of our great amusements is to watch the
living life on the river, — there is no still life in
France. All the washerwomen of the village as
semble, three days in the week, beneath our terrace,
and a merrier set of grisettes is not to be found in
the neighbourhood of Paris. They chat, and joke,
and splash, and scream from morning to night, light
ening the toil by never-ceasing good humour. Occa
sionally an enormous scow-like barge is hauled up
against the current, by stout horses, loaded to the
waters edge, or one, without freight, comes dropping
down the stream, nearly filling the whole river as
it floats broad-side to. There are three or four
islands opposite, and, now and then, a small boat is
seen paddling among Ihem. We have even tried
punting ourselves, but the amusement w^s soon ex
hausted.

92 PRANCE.
Sunday is a great day with us, for then the shore
is lined with Parisians, as thoroughly cockney as if
Bow-bells could be heard in the quartier Montmar
tre! These good people visit us, in all sorts of ways ;
some on donkies,some in cabriolets, some in fiacres,
and, by far the larger portion on foot. They are
perfectly inoffensive and unobtrusive, being, in this
respect, just as unlike an American inroad from a
town, as can well be. These crowds pass vineyards
on their way to us, unprotected by any fences. This
point in the French character, however, about wbich
so much has been said to onr disadvantage, as well
as to that of the English, is subject to some expla
nation. The statues, promenades, gardens, &c. &c.
are, almost without exception, guarded by sentinels ;
and then there are agents of the police, in common
clothes, scattered through the towns, in such num
bers as to make depredations hazardous. In the
country each commune has one, or more, gardes
champetre, whose sole business it is to detect and
arrest trespassers. When to these are added the
gensdarmes ci pii and ci cheval, vvho are constantly
in motion, one sees that the risk of breaking the
laws, is attended with more hazard here, than with
us. There is no doubt, on the other hand, that the
training and habits, produced by sucb a system of
watchfulness, enter so far into the character of the
people, that they cease to think of doing that which
is so strenuously denied them.
Some of our visitors make their appearance in a
very quaint style. I met a party the other day,

FRANCE. 93
among whom the following family arrangement had
obtained. The man was mounted on a donkey,
with his feet just clear of the ground. The wife,
a buxom brunette, was trudging afoot in the rear,
accompanied by the two younger children, a boy
and girl, between twelve and fourteen, led by a
small dog, fastened to a string, like the guide of a
blind mendicant ; while the eldest daughter was
mounted on the crupper, maintaining her equilibri
um by a masculine disposition of her lower limbs.
She was a fine, rosy cheeked grisette, of about
seventeen; and, as they ambled along, just fast
enough to keep the cur on a slow strot, her cap flared
in the wind, her black eyes flashed with pleasure,
and her dark ringlets streamed behind her, like so
many silken pennants. She had a ready laugh for
every one she met, and a sort of malicious pleasure
in asking, by her countenance, if they did not wish
they too had a donkey ? As the seat was none of
the most commodious, she had contrived to make a
pair of stirrups of her petticoats. The gown was
pinned up about her waist, leaving her knees instead
of her feet, as ihe points d' appui. The well-turned
legs, and the ancles, with such a chaussure as at
once marks a Parisienne, were exposed to the admi
ration of a parterre of some hundreds of idle way
farers. Truly, it is no Wonder that sculptors abound
in this country, for capital models are to be found,
even in the highways. The donkey was the only
one who appeared displeased with this monture,
and he only manifested dissatisfaction by lifting his

94

FRANCE.

hinder extremities a little, as the man occasionally
touched his flanks with a nettle, that the ass would
much rather have been eating.
Not long since I passed half an hour on the ter
race, an amused witness of the perils bf a voyage
across tbe Seine, in a punt. The adventurers were
a bourgeois, his wife, sister, and child. Honest
Pierre, the waterman, had conditioned to take the
whole party to the island opposite, and to return
them safe to the main, for the modicum of five sou^.
The old fox invariably charged me a franc, for the
same service. There was much demurring and
many doubts about encountering the risks ; and.,
more than once, the women would have receded,
had not the man treated the matter as a trifle. He
affirmed parole d'honneur that his father had cross
ed the Maine a dozen times, and no harm had come
of it ! This encouraged them, and with many pret
ty screams, mes fois, and oh, dieus, they finally
embarked. The punt was a narrow scow, tbat a ton
weight would not have disturbed, the river was so
low and sluggish tbat it might have been forded two-
thirds of the distance, and the width was not three
hundred feet. Pierre protested that the danger was
certainly not worth mentioning, and away he went,
as philosophical in appearance as his punt. The
voyage was made in safety, and the bows of the boat
had actually touched the shore on its return, before
any of the passengers ventured to smile. The ex
cursion, like most travelling, was likely to be most
productive of happiness by tbe recollections. But

PHANCE. 95
the women were no sooner landed, than that rash
adventurer, the husband, brother, and father, seized
an oar, and began to ply it with all his force. He
merely wished to tell bis confreres of the rue Mont-
m,artre how a punt might be rowed. Pierre had
gallantly landed to assist the ladies, and the boat, re
lieved of its weight, slowly yielded to the impulse
of the oar, and inclined its bows from the land.
"Oh! Edouard! mon mari! mon frere! — que
fais tu?" exclaimed the ladies. " Ce n'est rien"
returned the man, puffing and giving another lusty
sweep, by which he succeeded in forcing the punt
fully twenty feet from tbe shore. "Edouard! cher
Edouard!" " Laisse-m,oi m' amuser. Je m'a-
m,use—je m,' amuse" cried the husband, in a tone
of indignant remonstrance. But Edouard, a tight,
sleek little epicier, of about five and thirty, had
never beard that an oar on each side was necessary
in a boat, and the harder be pulled, the less likely
was he to regain the shore. Of this he began to
be convinced, as he whirled more into the centre of
the current ; and his efforts now really became fran
tic, for bis imagination probably painted the horrors
of a distant voyage, in an unknown bark, to an un
known land, and all without food or compass. The
women screamed, and the louder they cried, the
more strenuously he persevered in saying, "Laisse-
moi m' amuser— je m'amuse, je m' amuse." By
this time the perspiration poured from the face of
Edouard, and I called to the imperturbable Pierre,
who stood in silent admiration of his punt while

96 PRANCE.
playing such antics, and desired him to tell the man
to put his oar on the bottom, and to push the boat
ashore. " Oui, Monsieur," said the rogue, with a
leer, for he remembered the francs, and we soon had'
our adventurer safe on terra firma again. Then
began the tender expostulations, the affectionate re
proaches, and the kind injunctions for the truant to
remember that he was a husband and a father,
Edouard, secretly cursing the punt and all rivers
in his heart, made light of the matter, however,
protesting to the last, tbat he had pnly been enjoy
ing himself.
We have had a f'i,te,\ao-, for every village in
the vicinity of Paris has its fete. The square was
filled with whirligigs and flying-horses, and all the
ingenious contrivances of the French to make and
to spend a sous pleasantly. There was service in
the parish church, at which our neighbours sang, in
a style fit for St. Peter's ; and the villagers danced
quadrilles on the green, with an air that would be
thought fine in many a country drawing-room.
I enjoy all this greatly ; for, to own tbe truth, the
crowds and mannered sameness of Paris began to
weary me. Our friends occasionally come from
town to see us, and we make good use of the cabri
olet. As we are near neighbours to St. Denis, we
have paid several visits to the tombs of the French
kings, and returned, each time, less pleased wilh
most of the unmeaning obsequies that are observed
in their vaults. There was a ceremony, not long
i nee, at which the royal family, and many of the

FRANCE. 97
great officers of tbe court assisted, and among others,
M. de Talleyrand. The latter was in the body of
the church, when a man rushed upon him, and actu
ally struck him, or shoved him, to the earth, using,
at the same time, language that left no doubt of the
nature of the assault. There are strange rumours
connected with the affair. The assailant vvas a
Marquis de  , and it is reported that his wrongs,
real or imaginary, are connected with a plot to rob
one of the dethroned family of her jewels, or of
some crown jewels, I cannot say which, at the epoch
of the restoration. The journals said a good deal
about it, at the time, but events occur so fast, here,
that a quarrel of this sort produces little sensation.
I pretend to no knowledge of the merits of this
affair, and only gi'v;e a general outline of what was
current in the public prints, at the time.
We have also visited Enghien, and Montmoren
cy. The latter, as you know already, stands on the
side of a low mountain, in plain view of Paris. It
is a town of some size, with very uneven streets,
some of them being actually sharp acclivities, and
a gothic church that is seen from afar, and that is
well worth viewing near by. These quaint edifices
afford us deep delight, by their antiquity, architec
ture, size, and pious histories. What matters it to
us how much or how little superstition may blend
with the rites, when we know and feel that we are
standing in a nave that has echoed with orisons to
God, for a thousand years ! This of Montmorency
Vol. II. 9

98 PRANCE.
is not quite so old, however, having been rebuilt
only three centuries since.
Dulaure, a severe judge of aristocracy, denounces
the pretension of the Montmorencies to be the Pre
miers Barons Chretiens, affirming that they were
neither the first barons, nor the first Christians, by
a great many. He says, that the extravagant title
has most probably been a war-cry, in the time of
the crusaders. According to his account of the
family, it originated, about the year 1008, in a cer
tain Burchard, who, proving a bad neighbour to the
Abbey of St. Denis, the vassals of which he was in
the habit of robbing, besides, now and then, despoil
ing a monk, the king caused his fortress in the isle
St. Denis to be razed ; after vvhich, by a treaty, he
was put in possession of the mountain hard by, with
permission to erect another hold near a fountain, at
a place called in the charters, Montmorenciacum.
Hence the name, and the family. This writer thinks
that the first castle must have been built of wood !
We took a road that led us up to a bluff on the
mountain, behind the town, vvhere we obtained a
new and very peculiar view of Paris and its ¦ envi
rons. I have said that the French towns have
no straggling suburbs. A few wine-houses (to
save the ortroi) are built near the gates, com
pactly, as in the town itself, and there the buildings
cease as suddenly as if pared dovvn by a knife. The
fields touch the walls, in many places, and between
St. Ouen and the guinguettes and wine-houses, at
the barrilre de Clichy, a distance of quite two miles,

PRANCE. 99
there is but a solitary building. A wide plain sepa
rates Paris, on this side, from the mountains, and of
course our view extended across it. The number of
villages was absolutely astounding. Although I did
not attempt counting them, I should think not
fewer than a hundred were in sight, all gray, pic
turesque, and clustering round the high nave and
church tower, like chickens gathering beneath the
wing. The day was clouded, and the hamlets
rose from their beds of verdure, sombre but distinct,
with their faces of wall, now in subdued light, and
now quite shaded, resembling the glorious darks
of Rembrandt's pictures.

100

PRANCE.

LETTER VI.
To Capt. M. Perry, U. S. N.
I AM often in the saddle, since our removal to
St. Ouen. I first commenced the business of ex
ploring in the cabriolet, with my wife for a compa
nion, during which time, several very pretty drives,
of whose existence one journeying along the great
roads would form no idea, were discovered. At last,
as these became exhausted, I mounted, and pricked
into the fields. The result has been a better know
ledge of the details of ordinary rural life, in this
country, than a stranger would get by a residence,
after the ordinary fashion, of years.
I found the vast plain intersected by roads as
intricate as the veins of the human body. The com
parison is not unapt, by the way, and may be even
carried out much further; for the grandes routes
can be compared to the arteries, the chemins
vicinaux, or cross-roads, to the veins, and the in
numerable paths that intersect the.fields, in all di
rections, to the more minute blood vessels, circu
lation being the object common to all.
I mount my horse and gallop into the fields at
random, merely taking care not to quit the paths.
By the latter, one can go in almost any direction ;
and, as they are very winding, there is a certain

FRANCE. - 101
pleasure in following their sinuosities, doubtful
whither they tend. Much of the plain is in vege
tables, for the use of Paris, thougb there is occa
sionally a vineyard, or a field of grain. The
weather has become settled and autumnal, and is
equally without the chilling moisture of the winter
or the fickleness of the spring. The kind-hearted
peasants see me pass among them without distrust,
and my salutations are answered with cheerfulness
and civility. Even at this trifling distance from
the capital, I miss the brusque ferocity that is so
apt to characterize the deportment of its lower
classes, who are truly the people that Voltaire has
described as " ou singes, ou tigres." Nothing, I
think, strikes an American more than the marked
difference between the town and country of France.
With us, the towns are less town-like, and the
country less country-like, than is usually the case.
Our towns are provincial from the want of tone
that can only be acquired by time, while it is a
fault with our country to wish to imitate the towns.
I now allude to habits only, for the nature at home,
owing to the great abundance of wood, is more
strikingly rural than in any other country I know.
The inhabitant of Paris can quit his own door in
the centre of the place, and after walking an hour,
he finds himself truly in the country, both as to the
air of external objects, and as to the manners of the
people. The influence of the capital doubtless has
some little effect on the latter, but not enough to
raise them above the ordinary rusticity, for the

102

FRANCE.

French peasants are as rustic in their appearance
and habits, as the upper classes are refined.
One of my rides is through the plain that lies
between St. Ouen and Montmartre, ascending the
latter by its rear to the windmills, that night and
day, are whirling their ragged arms over the capi
tal of France. Thence I descend into the town,
' by the carriage road. A view from this height is
like a glimpse into the pages of history, for every
foot of land that it commands, and more than half
the artificial accessories, are pregnant of the past.
Looking down into the fissures between the houses,
men appear the mites they are, and one gets to have
a philosophical indifference to human vanities, by
obtaining these bird's-eye views of them in the
mass. It was a happy thought that first suggested
the summits of mountains for religious contempla
tion ; nor do I think the Father of Evil discovered
his usual sagacity when he resorted to sucb a place
for the purposes of selfish temptation; perhaps,
however, it vvould be better to say, he betrayed the
grovelling propensities of his own nature. The
cathedral of Notre Dame should have been reared
on this noble and isolated height, that the airs of
heaven might whisper through its fane, breathing
the chaunts in honour of God.
Dismounting, manfully, I have lately undertaken
a far more serious enterprise — that of making the
entire circuit of Paris, on foot. My companion
was our old friend Capt.  . We met, by ap
pointment, at eleven o'clock, just without the bar
rilre de Clichy, and, ordering the carriage to come

FRANCE. 103
for us at five, off we started, taking the direction
of the eastern side of the town. You probably
know that what are commonly called the boule
vards of Paris, are no more than a circular line of
wide streets, through the very heart of the place,
wbich obtain their common appellation from the
fact that they occupy the sites of the ancient walls.
Thus the street, within this circuit, is called by its
name, whatever it may happen to be, and, if con
tinued without the circuit, the term oi fauxbourg
or suburb is added ; as in the case of the "rue St.
Honori," and fhe "rue fauxbourg St. Honori,"
the latter being strictly a continuation of the for
mer, but lying without the site of the ancient walls.
As the town has increased, it has been found neces
sary to enlarge its enceinte, and the walls are now
encircled vvith wide avenues that are called the
outer boulevards. There are avenues within
and without the walls, and immediately beneath
them ; and, in many places, both are planted. Our
route was on the exterior.
We began the march in good spirits, and by
twelve, we bad handsomely done our four miles
and a half Of course we passed the different bar-
rilres, and the gate of Pire la Chaise. The cap
tain commenced with great vigour, and for near
two hours, as he expressed himself, he had me a
little on his lee quarter, not more, however, he
thought, than was due to his superior rank, for he
had once been my senior, as a midshipman. At
the barrih'e du trone we were compelled to di
verge a little from the. wall, in order to get across

104

PRANCE.

the river by the pont d' Austerlitz. By this time,
I had ranged up abeam of the commodore, and I
proposed that we should follow the river, up as far
as the wall again, in order to do our work ho
nestly. But to this he objected that he had no
wish to puzzle himself with spherical trigonome
try, that plane sailing was his humour at the mo
ment, and that he had, moreover, just discovered
that one of his boots pinched his foot. Accord
ingly we proceeded straight from the bridge, not
meeting the wall again until we were beyond the
abattoir. These abattoirs are slaughter-bouses,
that Napoleon caused to be built, near the walls, in
some places within, and in others without them,
according to the different localities. There are
five or six of them, that of Montmartre being the
most considerable. They are kept in excellent
order, and the regulations respecting them appear
to be generally good. The butchers sell their
meatSj in shops, all over the town, a general cus
tom in Europe, and one that has more advantages
than disadvantages, as it enables the inhabitant to
order a meal at any moment. This independence
in the mode of living distinguishes all the large
towns of this part of the world from our own ; for
I greatly question if there be any civilized people
among whom the individual is as much obliged to
consult the habits and tastes of all, in gratifying his
own, as in free and independent America. A. part
of this uncomfortable feature in our domestic eco
nomy, is no doubt the result of circumstances un
avoidably connected with the condition of a young

FRANCE. 105
country, but a great deal is to be ascribed to the
practice of referring every thing to the public, and
not a little to those religious sects who extended
their supervision to all the affairs of life, that had
a chief concern in settling the country, and who
have entailed so much that is inconvenient and un
graceful (I might almost say, in some instances,
disgraceful) on the nation, blended with so much
that forms its purest sources of pride. Men are
always an inconsistent medley of good and bad.
The captain and myself had visited the abattoir
oi Montmartre only a few days previously to this
excursion, and we had both been mucb gratified
with its order and neatness. But an unfortunate
pile of hocks, hoofs, tallow, and nameless fragments
of carcasses, had caught my companion's eye. I
found him musing over this omnium gatherum,
which he protested was worse than a bread pud
ding at Saratoga. By some process of reasoning,
that was rather material than philosophical, he
came to the conclusion that the substratum ofall the
extraordinary compounds he had met with at the
restaurants was derived from this pile, and he
swore, as terribly as any of " our army in Flan
ders," that not another mouthful would he touch,
while he remained in Paris, if the dish put his
knowledge of natural history at fault. He had all
along suspected he had been eating cats and ver
min, but his imagination had never pictured to him .
such a store of abominations for the casserole, as
were to be seen in this pile. In vain I asked him
if he did not find the dishes good. Cats might he

106

PRANCE.

good for any thing he knew, but he was too old to
change his habits. On the present occasion, he
made the situation ofthe abattoir d' Ivry an ex
cuse for not turning up the river, by the wall. I
do not think, however, we gained any thing in the
distance, the ditour to cross the bridge more than
equaling the ground we missed.
We came, under the wall again, at the barrilre
de Taille Juif and followed it, keeping on the side
next the town, until we fairly reached the river,
once more, beyond Vaugirard. Here we were
compelled to walk some distance to cross the Po7it
de Jine, and again to make a considerable circuit
through Passy, on account of the gardens, in order
to do justice to our task. About this time, the
commodore fairly fell astern ; and he discovered
that the other boot was too large. I kept talking
to him over my shoulder, and cheering him on,
and he felicitated me on frogs ^agreeing so well
with my constitution. At length, we came in at
the barrilre de Clichy, just as the clocks struck
three, or in four hours, to a minute, from the time
we had left the same spot. We had neither stopped,
eaten, nor drunk a mouthful. The distance is sup
posed to be about eighteen miles, but I can hardly
think it is so much, for we went rather further
than if we had closely followed the wall.
Our agility having greatly exceeded my calcula
tions, we were obliged to walk two miles further,
in order to find the carriage. The time expended
in going this distance included, we were just four
hours and a half on our feet. The captain pro-

PRANCE. 107
tested that his boots had disgraced him, and forth
with commanded another pair ; a subterfuge that
did him no good.
One anecdote connected with the sojourn of this
eccentric, but really excellent-hearted and intelli
gent man,* at Paris, is too good not to be told.
He cannot speak a word of pure French, and of all
Anglicizing of the language, I have ever heard, his
attempts at it are the most droll. He calls the
Tuileries, TuW-^rees, the jardins des plantes the
garden dis plants, the guillotine, gitllyteen, and
the gargons of the cafis, gassons. Cholerick,
with whiskers like a bear, and a voice of thunder,
if any thing goes wrong, he swears away, star
board and larboard, in French and English, in de
lightful discord.
He sought me out, soon after his arrival, and
carried me vvith him, as an interpreter, in quest
of lodgings. We found a very snug little apart
ment of four rooms, that he took. The last occu
pant was a lady, who in letting the rooms, condi
tioned that Marie, her servant, mustbe hired with
them, to look after the furniture, and to be in rea
diness to receive her, at her return from the pro
vinces. A few days after this arrangement I
called, and was surprised, on ringing the bell, to
hear the cry of an infant. After a moment's delay
the door was cautiously opened, and the captain in
his gruffest tone demanded, " cur vully voo ?"
An exclamation of surprize, at seeing me, followed ;
but instead of opening the door for my admission,

108 PRANCE.
he held it, for a moment, as if undecided whether to
be "athome" or not. At this critical instant an
infant cried again, and tbe thing became too ridicu
lous for further gravity. We both laughed out
right. I entered and found the captain with a
child three days old, tucked under bis right arm,
or that which had been concealed by the door.
The explanation was very simple, and infinitely to
his credit.
Marie, the locum tenens of the lady who had
let the apartment, and the wife of a coachman who
was in the country, was the mother of the infant.
After its birth, she presented herself to her new
master ; told her story, adding, by means of an
interpreter, that if he turned her away, she had no
place in which to lay her head. The kind-hearted
fellow made out to live abroad as well as he could,
for a day or two ; an easy thing enough in Paris,
by the way ; and when I so unexpectedly entered,
Marie was actually cooking the captain's breakfast
in the kitchen, while he was nursing the child in
the salon!
The dialogues between the captain and Marie,
were, to the last degree, amusing. He was quite
unconscious of the odd sounds he uttered in speak
ing French, but thought he was getting on very
well, heing rather minute and particular in his
orders ; and she felt his kindness to herself and
child so sensibly, that she always fancied she un
derstood his wishes. I was frequently compelled
to interpret between them, first asking him to
explain himself in English, for I could raake but

FRANCE. 109
little of his French, myself On one occasion, he
invited me to breakfast, as we were to pass the day
exploring, in company. By vvay of inducement,
he told me that he had accidentally found some
cocoa in the shell, and that he had been teaching
Marie hovv to cook it, " ship-fashion." I would
not promise, as his hour was rather early, and the
distance between us so great; but before eleven
I would certainly be with him. I breakfasted at
home, therefore, but was punctual to the latter
engagement. " I hope you have breakfasted ?"
cried the captain, rather fiercely, as I entered. I
satisfied him on this point, and then, after a minute
of demure reflection, he resumed, " you are lucky,
for Marie boiled the cocoa, and, after throwing
away the liquor, she buttered and peppered the
shells, and served them for me to eat ! I don't see
how she made such a mistake, for I was very par
ticular in my directions, and be d — d to her. I
don't care so much about my own breakfast,
neither, for that can be had at the next cafi, but
the poor creature has lost hers, which I told her
to cook out of the rest of the cocoa.'' I had the cu
riosity to inquire how he had made out to tell Marie
to do all this. " Why, I showed her the cocoa,
to be sure, and then told her to " hoily vous-
meme." There was no laughing at this, and so I
went with the captain to a cafi, after which we
proceeded in quest of the "gullyteen," which he
was particularly anxious to see.
My rides often extend to the heights behind
Malmaison and St. Cloud, where there is a fine

uo

PRANCE.

country, and where some of the best views, in the
vicinity of Paris, are to be obtained. As the court
is at St. Cloud, I often meet different members of
the royal family, dashing to or from town, or per
haps passing from one of their abodes to another.
The style is pretty uniform, for I do not remem
ber to have ever met the king, but once, with less
than eight horses. The exception, was quite early
one morning, when he was going into the country
with very little iclat, accompanied by the Dau
phine. Even on this occasion, he was in a car
riage and six, followed by another with four, and
attended by a dozen mounted men. These royal
progresses are truly magnificent ; and they serve
greatly to enliven the road, as we live so near the
country palace. The king has been quite lately to
a camp, formed at St. Omer, and I happened to
meet a portion of his equipages on their return.
The carriages I saw were very neatly built post-
chaises, well leathered, and contained what are
here called the " officers of the mouth," alias
" cooks and purveyors." They were all drawn by
four horses. This was a great occasion — furniture
being actually sent from the palace of Compeigne
for the king's lodgings, and the court is said to
have employed seventy different vehicles to trans
port it. I saw about a dozen.
Returning tbe other night from a dinner-party,
given bri the banks of the Seine, a few miles abpve
us, I' saw flaring lights gleaming along the high
way, which, at first, caused nearly as much con
jecture as some of the adventures of Don Quixotte.

PRANCE. Ill
My horse proving a little restive, I pulled up,
placing the cabriolet on one side of the road, for
the first impression was that the cattle employed
at some funeral procession had taken flight, and
were running away. It proved to be the Dauphine
dashing towards St. Cloud. This was the first
time I had ever met any of the royal equipages at
night, and the passage was much the most pictur
esque of any I had hitherto seen. Footmen, hold
ing flaming flambeaux, rode in pairs, in front, by
the side ofthe carriage, and in its rear ; the piqueur
scouring along the road in advance, like a rocket.
By the way, a lady of the court told me lately, that
Louis XVIIIth had lost some of his French by the
emigration, for he did not know how to pronounce
this word piqueur.
On witnessing all this magnificence, the mind is
carried back a few generations, in the inquiry after
the progress of luxury, and the usages of our fa
thers. Coaches were first used in England in the
reign of Elizabeth. It is clear enough, by the
pictures in the Louvre, that in the time of Louis
XlVth the royal carriages were huge, clumsy
vehicles, with at least three seats. Mademoiselle
de Montpensier, in her Memoirs, tell us how often
she took her place at the window, in order to ad
mire the graceful attitudes of M. de Lauzun,
who rode near it. There is still in existence, in
the Bibliotheque du Roi, a letter of Henry IVth
to Sully, in which the king explains to the grand
master, the reason why he could not come to the

 FRANCE.
i--?;;5i that day : tbe excuse being-fhat the queen
«w wting fhe carriage! To-day his descendant
seldom moves at a pace slower than ten miles the
hou.-. ]5 drawn by eight horses, and is usually ac
companied by one or more empty vehicles, of
eqoal magnificence, to receive him, in the event of
an accident
Notwithstanding all this regal splendour, the
tum-o'Jts of Paris, as a whole, are by no means
remarkable. The genteelest, and the fashionable,
carriage is the chariot. I like the proportions of
the French carriages better than those of the En
glish, or our own : the first being too heavy, and
the last too hght. The French vehicles appear to
me to be, in this respect, a happy medium. But
the finish is by no means equal to that of the En
glish carriages, nor at all better than that of ours.
There are, relatively, a large proportion of shabby-
genteel equipages at Paris. Even the vehicles
that are seen standing in the court of the Tuileries,
on a reception day, are not at all superior to the
better sort of American (Carriages, though the live
ries are much more showy.
Few people here, own the carriages and horses
they use. Even the sti-angers, who are obliged fo
have travelling' vehicles, rarely use them in town,
the road and the streets requiring very different
sorts of equipages. There are certain job-dealers
who furnish all that is required, for a stipulated
sum. You select the carriage and horses, on trial,
and contract at so much a month, or at so much a

PRANCE. 113
year. The coachman usually comes with the equi
page, as does the footman sometimes, though both
are paid by the person taking the coach. They will
wear your livery, if you choose, and, you can have
your arms put on the carriage, if desirable. I
pay five hundred francs a month for a carriage and
horses, and forty francs for a coachman. I believe
this is the usual price. I have a right to have a
pair of horses, always at my command, finding
nothing but the stable, and even this would be un
necessary in Paris. If vve go away from our own
stable, I pay five francs a day, extra. There is a
very great convenience to strangers, in particular,
in this system, for one can set up, and lay down a
carriage, without unnecessary trouble or expense,
as it may be wanted. In every thing of this nature,
we have no town that has the least the character, or
the conveniences, of a capital
The French have little to boast of in the way of
horse flesh. Most of the fine coach and cabriolet
cattle of Paris come from Mecklenburg, though
some are imported from England. It is not com
mon to meet witb a very fine animal of the native
breed. In America, land is so plenty and so cheap,
that we keep a much larger proportion of brute
force than is kept here. It is not uncommon with
us to meet witb those who live by day's work,
using either oxen or horses. The consequence is,
that many beasts are raised with little care, and
with scarcely any attention to the breeds. We find
tiany bad horses, therefore, in America, but still
10*

^1* PRANCE.
TT? find many good ones. In spite of bad groom-
-z. liltie training, and hard work, I greatly ques-
rioc if even England possesses a larger proportion
of ^:od h;r5e5. comparing the population of the
two conntries. than America. Our animals are
quicker footed, and at trotting, I suspect, we could
beat the world : Christendom, certainly. The
iTeat aven-je between the garden of the Tuileries
and the Bois de Boulogne, with the allies of the
latter, are the places to meet the fast goers of the
French capital, and I am strongly of opinion that
tbere is no s'jch exhibition of speed, in either, as
one nie eti on the Third Avenue of New York.
As for the Avenue de Neuilly, our sulky riders
would vanish like the wind fi-om any thing I have
ser.-. on it, althousch one meets there, occasionally,
nne animals irom all parts of Europe.
The cattle ofthe diligences,oi the post houses,and
even of the cavalry of France, are solid, hardy and
o;ood feeders, but they are almost entirely without
s'-ieed or action. The two former are very much the
same, and it is a hard matter to get more than eight
miles out of them, without breaking into a gallop,
or more than ten, if put under the whip. Now, a
short time previously to leaving home, I went
eleven measured miles, in a public coach, in two
minutes less than an hour, the whip untouched. I
sat on the box, by the side of the driver, and know
that this was done under a pull that actually dis-
..bled one of his arms, and that neither of the four
animals broke its trot. It is not often our roads

a

FRANCE. 115
will admit of this, but, had we the roads of Eng
land, I make little doubt we should altogether out
do her in speed. As for the horses used here, in
the public conveyances, and for the post routes,
they are commonly compact, clumsy beasts, with
less force than their shape would give reason to
suppose. Their manes are long and shaggy, the
fetlocks are rarely trimmed, the shoes are seldom
corked, and, vvhen there is a liftle coquetry, the tail
is braided. In this trim, with a coarse harness, that
is hardly ever cleaned, traces of coinmon rope, and
half the time no blinkers or reins, away they scam
per, with their heads in all directions, like the clas
sical representation of a team in an ancient car,
through thick and thin, working vvith all their
might to do two posts within an hour; one, being
the legal measure. These animals appear to pos
sess a strange bonhomie, being obedient, willing,
and tractable, although, in the way of harness and
reins, they are pretty much their own masters.
My excursions in the environs have made me ac
quainted vvith a great variety of modes of commu
nication between the capital and its adjacent vil
lages. Although Paris is pared down so accurately,
and is almost without suburbs, the population,
within a circuit of ten miles in each direction, is
almost equal to that of Paris itself. St. Denis has
several thousands, St. Germain the same, and Ver
sailles is still a town of considerable importance.
All these places, with villages out of number, keep
up daily intercourse with the city, and in addition

116 PRANCE.
to the hundreds of vegetable carts that constantly
pass to and fro, there are many conveyances that
are exclusively devoted to passengers. The cheap
est and lowest is called a coucou, for no reason
that I can see, unless it be that a man looks very
like a fool to have a seat in one of them. They
are large cabriolets, with two and even three seats.
The wheels are enormous, and there is commonly
a small horse harnessed by the side of a larger, in
tbe thills, to drag perhaps eight or nine people.
One is amazed to see the living carrion that is driven
ahout a place like Paris, in these uncouth vehicles.
The river is so exceedingly crooked, that it is little
used by travellers above Rouen.
The internal transportation of France, where the
lines ^of the rivers are not followed, is carried on,
almost exclusively, in enormous carts, drawn by
six and even eight heavy horses, harnessed in a line.
The burthen is often as large as a load of hay, not
quite so high, perhaps, but generally longer, care
being had to preserve the balance in such a man
ner as to leave no great weight on the shaft-horse.
These teams are managed with great dexterity, and
I have often stopped and witnessed, with admira
tion, the entrance of one of them into a yard, as it
passed from a crowded street probably not more
than thirty feet wide. But the evolutions of the
diligence, guided as it chiefly is by the vi^hip, and
moving on a trot, are really nice affairs. I came
from La Grange, some time since, in one, and I
thought that we should dash every thing to pieces

FRANCE. 117
in the streets, and yet nothing was injured. At
the close of the journey, our team of five horses,
two on the pole and three on the lead, wheeled,
vvithout breaking its trot, into a street that was
barely wide enough to receive the huge vehicle,
and this too without human direction, the driver
being much too drunk to be of any service. These
diligences are uncouth objects to the eye ; but, for
the inside passengers, they are much more comfort
able, so far as my experience extends, than either
the American stage, or the English coach.
The necessity of passing the barrilre two or
three times a day, has also made me acquainted
with the great amount of drunkenness that prevails
in Paris. Wine can be had outside of the walls,
for about half the price which is paid for it within
the town, as it escapes the ortroi, or city duty.
The people resort to these places for indulgence,
and there is quite as much low blackguardism and
guzzling here, as is to be met witb in any sea
port I know.
Provisions of all sorts, too, are cheaper without
the gates, for the same reason; and the lower classes
resort to them to celebrate their weddings, and on
other eating and drinking occasions. " Ici on fait
festins et noces,"* is a common sign, no barrier
being without more or less of these houses. The
guinguettes are low gardens, answering to the En
glish tea-gardens of the humblest class, with a dif-
"¦ Weddings and merry-makings are kept here.

118

PRANCE.

ference in the drinkables and other fare. The base
of Montmartre is crowded with them.
One sometimes meets with an unpleasant adven
ture among these exhilirated gentry ; for, though,
I think, a low Frenchman is usually better natured
when a little grisi than when perfectly sober, this
is not always the case. Quite lately I had an affair
that might have terminated seriously, but for our
good luck. It is usual to have two sets of reins
to the cabriolets, the horses being very spirited,
and the danger from accidents in streets so narrow
and crowded, being great. I had dined in town,
and was coming out about nine o'clock. The horse
was walking up the ascent to the barrilre de Clichy,
when I observed, by the shadow cast from a bright
moon, that there was a man seated on the cabriolet,
behind. Charles was driving, and I ordered him
to tell the man to get off. Finding words of no
effect, Charles gave him a slight tap with his whip.
The fellow instaintly sprang forward, seized the
horse by the reins, and attempted to drag him to
one side of the road. Failing in this, he fled up
the street. Charles now called out that he had cuf
the reins. I seized the other pair and brought'the
horse up, and, as soon as he was under command,
we pursued our assailant at a gallop. He was soon
out of breath, and we captured him. As I felt very
indignant at the supposed outrage, which might
have cost, not us only, but others, their lives, I gave
him in charge to two gensd' armes atlhe gate, with

PRANCE. 119
my address, promising to call at the police office
in the morning.
Accordingly, next day I presented myself, and
was surprised to find that the man had been libe
rated. I had discovered, in the interval, that the
leather had broken, and had not been cut, which
materially altered fhe animus of the offence, and I
had come with an intention to ask for the release of
the culprit, believing it merely a sally of temper,
which a night's imprisonment sufficiently punished ;
but, the man being charged wifh cuffing the rein, I
thought the magistrate had greatly forgotten him
self, in discharging him before I appeared. Indeed
I made no scruple in telling him so. We had some
warm words, and parted. I make no doubt I was
mistaken for an Englishman, and fhat the old na
tional antipathy was at work against me.
I was a good deal surprised at the termination of
this, my first essay in French criminal justice. So
many eulogiums have been passed on the police, that
I was not prepared to find this indifference to an
offence like fhat of wantonly cutting the reins ofa
spirited cabriolet horse, in the streets of Paris ; for
such was the charge on which the man stood com
mitted. I mentioned the affair to a friend, and he
said that the police was good only for political of
fences, and that the government rather leaned to
the side of the rabble, in order to find support wifh
them, in the event of any serious movement. This,
you will remember, was the opinion of a French-
m.an, and not mine ; for I only relate the facts (one

120

PRANCE.

conjecture excepted,) and to do justice to all parties,
it is proper to add that my friend is warmly op
posed to the present rigime.
I have uniformly found the gensd' armes civil,
and even obliging ; and I have seen them show
great forbearance on various occasions. As to the
marvellous stories we have heard of the police of
Paris, I suspect they have been gotten up for effect,
such things being constantly practised here. One
needs be behind the curtain, in a great many 1;hings,
to get a just idea of the true state of the world. A
laughable instance has just occurred, within my
knowledge, of a story that has been got up for ef
fect. The town was quite horrified, lately, with
an account, in the journals, of a careless nurse per
mitting a child to fall into the fossi of the great
bears, in the jardins des plantes, and ofthe bears
eating up the dear litfle thing, to the smallest frag
ment, before succour could be obtained. Happen
ing to be at the garden soon a,fter, in the company
of one connected with the establishment, I inquired
into the circumstances, and was told that the nurses
were very careless with the children, and tbat the
story was'published in order that the bears should
Jiot eat up any child hereafter, rather than be
cause they had eaten up a child heretofore.

PRANCE. 121

LETTER VII.
To Mrs. Pomeroy, Cooperstown.
I HAVE said very little, in my previous letters,
on the subject of our personal intercourse witb the
society of Paris. It is not always easy for one to
be particular in these matters, and maintain the re
serve that is due to others. Violating the confi
dence he may have received through his hospita
lity, is but an indifferent return from the guest to
tbe host. Still there are men, if I may so express
it, so public in their very essence, certainly in tbeir
lives, that propriety is less concerned with a repe
tition of their sentiments, and with delineations of
their characters, than in ordinary cases ; for the
practice of the world has put them so much on
their guard against the representations of travel
lers, that there is more danger of rendering a false
account, by becoming their dupes, than of betray
ing them in their unguarded moments. I bave
scarcely ever been admitted to the presence of a
real notoriety, that I did not find the man, or wo
man — sex making little difference — an actor ; and
this, too, much beyond the every day and per
haps justifiable little practices of conventional
life. Inherent simplicity of character, is one of
the rarest, as, tempered by the tone imparted by
Vol. IL 11

122

PRANCE.

refinement, it is the loveliest of all our traits, though
it is quite common to meet with those who affect
it, with an address that is very apt to deceive the
ordinary, and most especially the flattered, ob
server. ,
Opportunity, rather than talents, is the great re
quisite for circulating gossip ; a very moderate de
gree of ability, sufficing for the observation which
shall render private anecdotes, more especially when
they relate to persons of celebrity, of interest to
the general reader. But there is another objection to
being merely the medium of information ofthis low
quality, that I should think would have great in
fluence with every one who has the common self-
respect of a gentleman. There is a tacit admis
sion ofinferiority in the occupation, that ought to
prove too humiliating to a man accustomed to those
associations, which imply equality. It is permitted
to touch upon the habits and appearance of a truly
great man ; but to dwell upon the peculiarities of a
duke, merely because he is a duke, is as much as to
say he is your superior ; a concession I do not feel
disposed to make in favour of any mere duke in
Christendom. I shall not, however, be wholly silent on the ge
neral impressions left by the little I have seen of
the society of Paris ; and, occasionally, when it is
characteristic, an anecdote may be introduced, for
such things sometimes give distinctness, as well as
piquancy, to a description.
During our first winter in Paris, our circle, never

PRANCE. 123
very large, vvas principally confined to foreign fa
milies, intermingled with a few French ; but since
our return to town, from St. Ouen, we have seen
more of the people of the country. I should great
ly mislead you, however, were I to leave the im
pression that our currency in the French capital has
been at all general, for' it certainly has, not. Neither
my health, leisure, fortune, nor opportunities, have
permitted this. I believe few, perhaps no Americans, '
have very general access to the best society of any
large European tovvn ; at all events, I have met witb
no one who, I have had any reason to think was
much better off than myself in this respect ; and, I
repeat, my own familiarity witb the circles of the
capital, is nothing to boast of It is in Paris, as it
is every where else, as respects those who are easy
of access. In all large towns there is to be found
a troublesome and pushing set, who, requiring no
toriety, obtrude themselves on strangers, sometimes
with sounding names, and always with offensive pre
tensions of some sort or other ; but the truly respec
table and estimable class, in every country, except
in cases that cannot properly be included in the rule,
are to be sought. Now, one must feel that he has
peculiar claims, or be better furnished with letters
than happened to be my case, to get a ready admis
sion into this set, or, having obtained it, to feel that
his position enabled him to maintain the intercourse)
with the ease and freedom that could alone render it
agreeable. To be shown about as a lion, when cir
cumstances offer the means ; to be stuck up at a

134 PRANCE.
dinner table, as a piece of luxury, like strawberries
in February, or peaches in April, can hardly be
called association : the terms being much on a par
with that which forms the liaison, between him who
gives the entertainment, and the hired plate with
which his table is garnished. With this explanation,
then, you are welcoipe to an outline of the little I
know on the subject.
One of the errors respecting the French, which
has been imported into America, through England,
is the impression that they are not hospitable. Since
my residence here, I bave often been at a loss to
imagine bow such a notion could have arisen, for I
am acquainted with no town, in which it has struck
me tbere is more true hospitality, than in Paris.
Not only are dinners, balls, and all the minor en
tertainments frequent, but there is scarcely a man,
or a woman, of any note in society, who does not
cause his or her doors to be opened, once a fort
night at least, and, in half the cases, once a week. At
these soiries invitations are sometimes given, it is
true, but then they are general, and for the whole
season ; and it is not unusual, even, to consider them
free to all who are on visiting terms with the
family. The utmost simplicity and good taste pre
vail at tbese places, the refreshments being light
and appropriate, and the forms exacting no more
than what belongs to good breeding. You will, at
once, conceive the great advantages that a stranger
possesses in having access to such social resources.
One, with a tolerable visiting list, may choose his

FRANCE. 125
circle for any particular evening, and, if by chance,
the company should not happen to be to his mind,
he has still before him the alternative of several
other houses, which are certain to he open. It is
not easy to say what can be more truly hospitable
than this.
The petits soupers, once so celebrated, are entire-
i-y superseded by the new distribution of time, which
is probably the most rational that can be devised for
a town life. The dinner is at six, an hour that is
too early to interfere with the engagements of the
evening, it being usually over at eight, and too late
to render food again necessary that night; an arrange
ment that greatly facilitates the evening intercourse,
releasing it at once from all trouble and parade.
It has often been said, in favour of French society,
that once within the doors of a salon all are equal.
This is not literally so, it being impossible that suoh
a state of things can exist; nor is it desirable that
it should ; since it is confounding all sentiment and
feeling, overlooking the claims of age, services,
merit of every sort, and' setting at naught the whole
construction of society. It is not absolutely true,
that even rank is entirely forgotten in French so
ciety, though I think it. sufficiently so to prevent
any deference to it from being offensive. The social
pretensions of a French peer are exceedingly well
regulated, nor do- I remember to have seen- an
instance in vvhich a very young man has been
particularly noticed on account of his having claims
.ofthis sort. Distinguished men are so very nume-
11*

126 PRANCE.
rous in Paris, that they excite no great feeling, and
the even course of society is little disturbed on their
account. Although all within the doors pf a French salon
are not perfectly equal, none are made unpleasantly
to feel the indifference. I dare say there are circles
in Paris, in which the mere possession of money
may be a source of evident distinction, but it must
be in a very inferior set. The French, while they
are singularly alive to the advantages of money, and
extremely liable to yield to its infiuenee in all im
portant matters, rarely permit any manifestations of
its power to escape them in their ordinary inter
course. As a people, they appear to me to be ready
to yield every thing to money, but its extemal
homage. On these points, they are the very con
verse of the Americans, who are hard to be bought,
while they consider money the very base of all dis
tinction. The origin of these peculiarities may be
found in the respective conditions of the two
countries. In America, fortunes are easily and rapidly ac
quired ; pressure reduces few to want ; he who serves
is, ifany thing, more in demand than he who is fo
be served ; and the want of temptation produces ex
emption from the liability to corruption. Men will,
and do, daily, corrupt themselves, in the rapacious
pursuit of gain, but comparatively few are in the
market, to be bought and sold by others. Notwith
standing this, money being every man's goal, there
is a secret, profound, and general deference for it ;

PRANCE. 127
while money will do less, than in almost any other
country in Christendom. Here, few young men look
forward to gaining distinction by making money ;
they search for it, as a means ; vvhereas, with us, it
is the end. We have little need of arms in America,
and the profession is in less request than that of
lavv or merchandize. Of the arts and letters, the
counfry possesses none, or next to none ; and there
is no true sympathy with eifhec The only career
that is felt, as likely to lead, and which can lead, to
distinction independently of money, is that of poli
tics, and, as a whole, this is so much occupied by
sheer adventurers, with little or no pretension to the
name of statesmen, that it is scarcely reputable to
belong to it. Although money has no influence in
politics, or as little as vvell may be, even the success
ful politician is but a secondary man, in ordinary
society, in comparison with fhe milionaire. Now,
all this is very much reversed in Paris. Money does
much, while it seeins to do but little. The writer
of a successful comedy would be a much more im
portant personage, in the coteries of Paris, than M.
Rothschild ; and the inventor of a new bonnet vvould
enjoy mucb more iclat than the inventor of a clever
speculation. I question if there be a community on
earth, in which gambling risks in the funds, for in
stance, are more general than in this, and yet the
subject appears to be entirely lost sight of out of
the Bourse.
The little social notoriety that is attached to mili
tary distinction, here, has greatly surprised me. It

128

PRANCE.

really seems as if France has had so much military
renown, as tO' be satiated With it. One is elbowed
constantly by generals, who have gained this or that
victory, and yet no- one seems to care anything about
them. I do not mean that the nation is indifferent
to military glory, but society appears to care little
or nothing about it. I have seen a good deal of fuss
made with the writer of a few clever verses; but I
have never seen any made with a hero. Perhaps it
was because the verses were new, and the victories
old. The perfect good taste and indifference which the
French manifest concerning the private affairs^ and
concerning the modeof living,of one who is admitted
to the salons, has justly extorted admiration, even
from the English, the people of all others who most
submit to a contrary feeling. A hackney coach is Bot
always admitted into a court-yard, but both-men and
women make their visits in them, without any appa
rent hesitation. No one seems ashamed of-confess*
ing poverty. 1 do not say that women of quality
often use fiacres to make their visits; but men do,
and I have seen women in them, openly, whom I
have met in some of the best houses* in Paris. It is
better to go in a private carrii^ge, or in a remise, if
one can, bfit few hesitate, when their means are
limited, about using the former. In order to appre
ciate this self-denial, or simplicity, or good sense, it
is necessary to remember that a Paris ^acreisnot to
be confounded with any other vehicle on earth. I
witnessed, a short time since, a ludicrous instance of

PRANCE. 129
the different degrees of feeling that exist on this
point, among different people. A  and myself
went to the house of an English woman, of our ac
quaintance, who is nof very choice in her French.
A Mrs.  , the wife of a colonel in the English
army, sat next A  , as a French lady begged that
her carriage might be ordered. Our hostess told
her .servant to order fhe fiacre of Madame  .
Novv, Madame  kept her chariot, to my certain
knowledge, but she disregarded the mistake. A 
soon after desired that our carriage might come next.
The good woman of the house, who loved to be
busy, again called for the fiacre of Madame  .
I saw the foot of A  in motion, but catching my
eye, she smiled, and the thing passed off. The voi
ture de Madame  , or our own carriage, was
announced, just as Mrs.  was trying to make
a servant understand she wished for hers. — " Le
fiacre de Madame  ," again put in the bustling
hostess. This was too much for a colonel's lady,
and, with a very pretty air of distress, she took care
to explain in a way" that all might hear her, fhat it
was a remise.
I dare say, vulgar prejudices influence vulgar
minds, here, as elsewhere, and yet I must say, that
I never knew any one hesitate about giving an ad
dress, on account of the humility of the lodgings.
It is to be presumed that the manner in which fami
lies that are historical, and of long-established rank,
were broken down by the revolution, has had an
influence in effecting this healthful state of feeling.

130

FRANCE.

The great tact and careful training of the women,
serve to add very much to the grace of French so
ciety. They effectually prevent all embarrassments
from the question of precedency, by their own deci
sions. Indeed, it appears to be admitted, that when
there is any doubt on these points, the mistress of
the house shall settle it in her own way. I found
myself lately, at a small dinner, the only stranger,
and the especially invited guest, standing near Ma
dame la Marquise at the moment the service was
announced. A bishop made one of the trio. I
could not precede a man of his years and profession,
and he was too polite to precede a stranger. It was
a nice point. Had it been a question betvveen a
duke and myself, as a stranger, and under the cir
cumstances of the invitation, I should have had the
pas, but even the lady hesitated about discrediting
a father of the church. She delayed but an instant,
and, smiling, she begged us to follow her to the
table, avoiding the decision altogether. In America,
such a thing could not have happened, for no wo
man, by a fiction of society, is supposed to know
how to walk in company without support ; but, here,
a woman will not spoil her curtesy, on entering a
room, by leaning on an arm, if she can well help it.
The practice of tucking up a brace of females, (liver
and gizzard, as the English coarsely, but not inaptly,
term it,) under one's arms, in order to enter a small
room that is crowded in a way to render the move
ments of even one person difficult, does not prevail
here, it being rightly judged that a proper tenue, a

FRANCE. 131
good walk, and a graceful movement, are all im
paired by it. This habit also singularly contributes
to the comfort of your sex, by rendering them more
independent of ours. No one thinks, except in very
particular cases, of going to the door to see a lady
into her carriage, a custom too provincial to prevail
in a capital, anywhere. Still, there is an amusing assi
duity among the men, on certain points of etiquette,
that has sometimes made me laugh ; though, in
truth, every concession to politeness being a tribute
to benevolence, is respectable, unless spoiled in the
manner. As we are gossiping about trifles, I will
mention a usage or two, that to you will at least be
novel. I was honoured with a letter from le Chevalier
Alexandre de Lameth,* accompanied by an offer
ing of a book, and I took an early opportunity to
pay my respects to him. I found this gentleman,
who once played so conspicuous a part in the poli
tics of France, and who is now a liberal deputy, at
breakfast, in a small cabinet, at the end of a suite of
four rooms. He received me politely, conversed a
good deal of America, in which country he had
served as a colonel, under Rochambeau, and I took
my leave. That M. de Lameth should rise, and
even see me into the next room, was what every
one would expect, and there I again took my leave
of him. But he followed me to each door, in succes
sion, and when, with a little gentle violence, I suc-
* Since dead.

132

FRANCE.

ceeded in shutting him in the ante-chamber, he
seemed to yield to my entreaties not to give him
self any further trouble. I was on the landing, on
ray viray dowta, wben, hearing the door of M. de
Lameth's apartment open, I turned and saw its
master standing before it, to give and receive the
last bow. Although this extreme attention to the
feelings of others, and delicacy of demeanor, rather
marks the Frenchman of the old school, perhaps, it
is by no means uncommon here. General la Fay
ette, while he permits me to see him with very lit
tle ceremony, scarcely ever suffers me to leave him,
without going with me as far as two or three doors.
This, in my case, he does more from habit than any
thing else, for he frequently does not even rise
when I enter; and, sometimes, when I laughingly
venture to say so much ceremony is scarcely neces
sary between us, he will take me at my word, and
go back to his writing, with perfect simplicity.
The reception between the women, I see plainly,
is graduated with an unpretending but nice regard
to their respective claims. They rise, even to men,
a much more becoming and graceful habit than that
of America, except in evening circles, or in receiving
intimates. I never saw a French woman offer her
hand to a male visitor, unless a relative, though it is
quite common for females to kiss each other, when
the riunion is not an affair of ceremony. The prac
tice of kissing among men, still exists, though it is
not very common at Paris. It appears to be gradu
ally going out with the ear-rings. I have never had

PRANCU. 133
an offer from a Frenchman, of my own age, to kiss
me, but it has frequently occurred, with my seniors.
General la Fayette practises it still, with all his in
timates. I was seated, the other evening, in quiet conversa
tion, with Madame la Princesse de  . Several
people had come and gone in the course of an hour,
and all had been received in the usual manner. At
length the huissier, walking fast through the ante
chambers, announced the wife of an ambassador.
The Princesse, at the moment, was seated on a di
van, witb ber feet raised so as not to touch the floor.
I was startled with the suddenness and vehemence
of her movements. She sprang to her feet, and
rather ran tban walked across the vast salon to the
door, where she was met by her visitor, who, ob
serving the empressement oi her hostess, through
the vista of rooms, had rushed forward as fast as
decorum would at all allow, in order to anticipate
her at the door. It was my impression, at first, that
they were -bosom friends, about to be restored to
each ol;her, after a long absence, and that the impe
tuosity of their feelings had gotten the better of
their ordinary self-command. No such thing ; it
was merely a strife of courtesy, for the meeting was
followed by an extreme attention to all the forms
of society, profound curtseys, and the elaborated
demeanor which marks ceremony rather than friend-
isbip. Much has been said about the latitude of speech
among the women of France, and comparisons have
Vol. II. 12

134

PKANCE.

been made betwen them and our own females, to
th.e disadvantage of the former. If the American
usages are to be taken as the standard of delicacy in
such matters, I know of no other people who eome
up to it As to our mere feelings, habit can render
any thing proper, or any thing improper, and it is
not an easy matter to say where the line, in con
formity with good sense and good taste, should be
actually drawn. I confess a leaning to the Ameri
can sehool, but how far I am influenced by educa
tion, it would not be easy for me to say myself
Foreigners affirm that we are squeamish, and that
we wound delicacy oftener by the awkward attempts
to protect it, than if we had more simplicity, There
may be some truth in this, for though cherishing
the notions of my youth, I never belonged to the
ultra school at home, which, I believe you will agree
with me, rather proves low breeding than good
breeding. One sees irastanees of this truth, not only
every day, but every hour of the day. Yesterday,
in crossing the Tuileries, I was witness of a ludi
crous scene that sufficiency illustrates what I mean.
The statues of the garden have little or no drapery.
A countryman, and two women ©f the same dass,
in passing ons, were strack with this circum
stance, and their hursts of laughter, running and
hiding their faces, and feud giggliutg, left no one in
ignorance of the cause of their extreme bashfulness.
Thousands of both sexes pass daily beneath Jte
same statue, without a thought oi its oudiiy, and it
is looked upon as a nsobte piece of sculpture.

FRANCE. 135
In dismissing this subject, which is every way
delicate, I shall merely say that usage tolerates a
license of speech, of which you probably have no
idea, but, that I think one hears very rarely, from a
French woman of condition, little that would not
be uttered, by an American female, under simi
lar circumstances. So far as my experience goes,
there is a marked difference, in this particular, be
tween the women of a middle station and those of a
higher rank ; by rank, however, I mean hereditary
rank, for the revolution has made a pile mile in the
salons of Paris.
Although tbe petits soupers have disappeared,
the dinners are very sufficient substitutes. They
are given at a better hour, and the service of a
French entertainment, so quiet, so entirely free
from effort, or chatter about food, is admirably
adapted to rendering them agreeable. I am clearly
of opinion no one ought to give any entertainment
that has not the means of making it pass off as a
matter-of-course thing, and without effort. I have
certainly seen a few fussy dinners bere, but they
are surprisingly rare. At home, we have plenty of
people who know that a party that has a laboured
air is inherently vulgar, but how few are there that
know how to treat a brilliant entertainment as a
mere matter of course ! Paris is full of those de
sirable houses in which the thing is understood.
The forms of the table vary a little, according to
the set one is in. In truly Frenoh houses, until
quite lately I believe, it was not the custom to

136 FRANCE.
change the kii ife, the duty of which, by the way,
is not great, the cookery requiring little more than
the fork. In families that mingle more with stran
gers, both are changed, as with us. A great dinner
is served very much as at home, so far as the mere
courses are concerned, thougb I have seen the
melons follow the soup. This I believe to be in
good taste, though it is not common, and it struck
me, at first, as being as much out of season as the
old New England custom of eating the pudding
before the meat But the French give small din
ners, (small in name, though certainly very great in
execution,) in which the dishes are served singly) or
nearly so; the entertainment resembling those given:
by the Turks, and being liable to the same objection ^
for when there is but a single dish before one, and
it is not known whether there is to be any more, it
is an awkward thing to decline eating. Such din
ners are generally of the best quality, but I think
they should never be given except where there is
sufficient intimacy to embolden the guest to say
jam satis.
The old devotion to the sex is not so exclusively
the occupation of a French salon, as it was, proba
bly, half a century since. I have been in several,
where the men were grouped- in a corner, talking
politics, while the women amused each other, as
best they could, in cold, formal lines, looking like
so many figures placed there to show off the latest
modes of the toilette. I do not say this is abso-

FRANCE. 137
lutely common, but it is less rare than you might
be apt to suppose.
I can tell you little of the habit of reading manu
scripts, in society. Such things ar^ certainly done,
for I bave been invited to be present on one or two
occasions, but having a horror of such exhibitions,
I make it a point to be indisposed, the choice lying
between the megrims before, or after them. Once,
and once only, I have heard a poet recite his verses
in a well filled drawing-room, and, though I have
every reason to tbink him clever, my ear was so
little accustomed to the language, that, in the mouth
ing of French recitation, I lost nearly all of it.
I have had an odd pleasure in driving from one
house to anotber, on particular evenings, in order to
produce as strong contrasts as ray limited visiting
list will procure. Having a fair opportunity a few
nights since, in consequence of two or three invita
tions coming in, for the eveningpn which several
houses where L occasionally called were opened, I
determined to make a night of it, in order to note
the effect. As A  did not know several of the
people, I went alone, and you may possibly be
amused witb an account of m-y adventures r they
shall be told.
In the first place I had to dress,, in OTder to go to
dinner at a house that I. had never entered, and
with, a family of which I had never seen a soul.
These are incident* wbich frequently come over a
stranger, and, at first,, were not a little awkward,
but use hardens us to much greater misfortunes. At
12*

138 PRANCE.
six, then, I stepped punctually into my coupS, and
gave Charles the necessary number and street I
ought to tell you! that the invitation had come a few
days before, and, in a fit of curiosity, I had accepted
it, and sent a card, without having the least idea who.
my host and hostess were, beyond their names.
There was something piquant in this ignorance,
and I had almost made up my mind to go in the
same mysterious manner, leaving, all to events, when.
happening, in an idle moment, to ask a lady of my
acquaintance,, and for whom I have a great respect,
if she knew a Madame de  , to my surprise,
her answer was — " Most certainly — she is my cou
sin, and you are to dine there to-morrow." I said
no more, though this satisfied me that my hosts
were people of some standing. While driving, to
their hotel, it struck me, under all the circum
stances, it might be well to know more of them,
and I stopped at the gate of a female friend, who
knows every body, and who, I was certain, would
receive me even at that unseasonable hour. I was
admitted,, explained my errand, and inquired if she
knew a M-. de  . " Quelle question !" she ex
claimed — " M, de  est Chancelier de la
France!" Absurd, and even awkward, as it might
have proved,, but for this lucky thought, I should
have gone and dined wifh the French Lord High
Chancellor, without baving the smallest suspicion of
who he was !
The hotel was a fine one, though the apart
ment was merely good, and the reception, ser-
¦vdce and general style of the house were so simple;

s

PRANCE. 139
that neither would have awakened the least suspi
cion of the importance of my hosts. The party
was small and the dinner modest I found the
chancelier a grave dignified man, a little curious on
the subject of America, and his wife, apparently a
woman of great good sense, and, I should think, of
a good deal of attainment. Every thing went offi
in the quietest manner possible, and I was sorrye
when it was time to go.
From this dinner, I drove to the hotel of the-
Marquis de Marbois, to pay a visit of digestion.
M. de Marbois retires so early, on account of bis-
great age, that one is obliged to be punctual, or he
will find the gate locked at nine. The company
had got back into the drawing-room, and as the
last week's guests were mostly there, as well as-those
who had just left the table, there might have been^
thirty people present, all of whom were men bufc
two. One of the ladies was Madame de Souza,
known in French literature as the writer of several
clever novels of society. In the drawing-room,-
were grouped, in clusters, the Grand Referendary,
M. Cuvier, M^ Daru, M. Villemain, M. de Plaisance,
Mr. Brown, and many others of note; There seem
ed to be something in the wind, as the conversation
was in low confidential whispers, attended by divers
ominous shrugs. This could only be politics, and
watching an opportunity, I questioned an acquaint
ance. The fact was really SO! The appointed hour
had come, and the ministry of M. de Villele was in
the agony. The elections had not been favourable,

140

PRANCE.

and it was expedient to make an attempt to reach
the old end, by what is called a new combination.
It is necessary to understand the general influence
of political intrigues on certain coteries of Paris, to
appreciate the effect of this intelligence, on a draw
ing-room filled, like tbis, witb men who bad beem,
actors in the principal events of France, for forty
years. The name of M. Cuvier was even mention--
ed as one of the new ministers. Comte Roy was
also named, as likely to be- the new premier. I was-
told that this- gentleman was one of the greatest
landed proprietors of France, his estates being valued
at four millions of dollars. The fact is curious, as
showing,.not on vulgar rumour, but from a respectable
source, what is- deemed a first rate landed property
in this country. It is- certainly no merit, nor do I
believe it is any very great advantage;, but, I think
we might materially beat this, even in America. The
company soon separated, and I retired.
From the Place de la Madeleine, I drove to a
house near the Carrousel, where I had been invited
to step in, in the course of the evening. All the
buildings that remain within the intended parallelo
gram, which will some day make this spot one of
the finest squares in the world, have been bought by
th© government,.or nearly so, withthe intent to have
them pulled down, at. a proper time ; and the court;
beatows lodgings, ad interim, among them, on its
favourites. Madame de  was- one of these fa-
-voured persons, and she occupies a small apartment
in the third story of one of these l-jouses. The rooms

FRANCE. 141
were neat and well arranged, but small. Probably
the largest does not exceed fifteen feet square. The
approach to a Paris lodging is usually either very
good, or very bad. In the nevv^ buildings may be
found some of the mediocrity of the new order of
things ; but in all those which were erected previous
ly to the revolution, there is nothing but extremes
in this, as in most ofher things. Great luxury and
elegance, or great meanness and discomfort The
house of Madame de  happens to be of the latter
class, and although all the disagreeables have disap
peared from her own rooms, one is compelled to
climb up to them, through a dark well of a staircase,
by flights of steps not much better than those we use
in our stables. You have no notion of such stair
cases as those I had just descended in the hotels of
the Chancelier and the Premier President ;* nor
have we any just idea, as connected with respect
able dwellings, of these I had now to clamber up.
M. de  is a man of talents and great respecta
bility, and his wife is exceedingly clever, but they
are not rich. He is a professor, and she is an artist
After having passed so much of my youth, on top
gallant-yards, and in becketting, royals, you are not '
to suppose, however, I had any great difficulty in
getting, up these stairs, narrow, steep, and winding
as they were.
We are now at the door, and I have rung.
On whom do you imagine the curtain will rise?
On a reunion of philosophers come to discuss
* M. de Marbois was the first president of the Court of Accounts.

142

FRANCE.

questions in botany, with M. de  , or on artists,
assembled to talk over the troubles of their profes
sion, with his wife? The door opens, and I enter.
The little drawing-room is crowded ; chiefly with
men. Two card tables are set, and at one I recognize
a party, in which are three dukes of the veille cour,
with M. de Duras at theif head ! The rest of the
company was a little more mixed, but, on the whole,
it savoured stronglyof Coblentz andtheCTM?j-ro^/ora.
This was more truly French than any thing I had
yet stumbled on. One or two of the grandees look
ed at me as if, better informed than Scott, they knew
that General La Fayette had not gone to America to
live. Some of these gentlemen certainly do not love
us ; but I had cut out too much work for the night
to stay and return the big looks of even dukes, and,
watching an opportunity, when the eyes of Madame
de  were another way, I stole out of the room.
Charles now took his orders, and we drove down-
into the heart of the town, somewhere near the ge
neral post-office, or into those mazes of streets- that,
near two years of practice, have not yet taught me
to thread. We entered the court of a large hotel, that
was brilliantly lighted, and I ascended, by a noble
flight of steps, to the first floor. Ante-chamber» com
municated with a magnificent saloon, which appear
ed to be near forty feet square. The ceilings were
lofty, and the walls were ornamented with military
trophies, beautifully designed, and whidi had the
air of being embossed and gilded. I had got into
the hotel of one of Napoleon's marshals, you will

PRANCE. 143
say, of at least into one of a marshal of the old
rigime. The latter conjecture may be true, but the
house is now inhabited by a great woollen manu
facturer, whom the events of the day has thrown into
the presence of all these military emblems. I found
the worthy industriel surrounded by a groupe,
composed of raen ofhis own stamp, eagerly discuss
ing the recent changes in the government. The wo
men, of whom there might have been a dozen, were
ranged, like a neglected parterre, along the opposite
side of the room. I paid my compliments, staid a
few minutes, and stole away to the next engage
ment. We had now to go to a little, retired, house on
the Champs Elysies. There were only three or four
carriages before the door, and on ascending to a
small, but very neat apartment, I found some twenty.
people collected. The mistress of the house was an
English lady, single, of a certain age, and a daughter
of the Earl of — . — -, who was once governor of New
York. Here was a very different set. One or two
ladies of the old court, women of elegant manners,
and seemingly of good information, several English
women, pretty, quiet and clever, besides a dozen
men of different nations. This was one of those
Uttle riunions that are so common in Paris, among
the foreigners, in which a small infusion of French
serves to leaven a considerable batch of human beings
from other parts of the world. As it is always a re
lief tome to speak my ownlanguage, after beinga good
while among foreigners, I staid an hour at this house.

^¦^^ FRANCE.
In the course of the evening an Irishman of great
wit and of exquisite humour, one ofthe paragons of
the age in his way, came in. In the course of con
versation, this gentleman, who is the proprietor of
an Irish estate, and a Catholic, told me of an atrocity
in the laws of his country, of which until then I was
ignorant. It seems that any younger brother, or
next heir, might claim the estate by turning Protes
tant, or drive the incumbent to the same act I was
rejoiced to hear that there was hardly an instance of
sucb profligacy known.* To what basfeness will not
the struggle for poUtical ascendancy urge us !
In the course of the evening, Mr.  , the Irish
gentleman, gravely introduced me to a Sir James
 , adding, with perfect gravity, "a gentleman
whose father humbugged the Pope — humbugged in
fallibility.''' One could not but be amused with such
an introduction, urged in a way so infinitely droll,
and I ventured, at a proper moment, to ask an ex
planation, which, unless I was also humbugged, was
as follows.
Among the ditenus in 1804, was Sir William
 , the father of Sir James  , the person in,
question. Taking advantage of the presence of the
Pope at Paris, he is said to have called on the good-
hearted Pius, with great concern of manner, to state
his case. He had left his sons in England, and
through his absence they had fallen under the eare
of two Presbyterian aunts; as a father he was na-
» I believe this" infamous law, however, has been repealed.

FRANCE. 145
turally anxious to rescue them from this perilous
situation. "Now Pius," continued my merry in
formant, "quite naturally supposed that all this
solicitude was in behalf of two orthodox Catholic
souls, and he got permission from Napoleon for the
return of so good a father, to his own country, never
dreaming that the conversion of the boys, if it ever
took place, would only be from the Protestant Epis
copal Church of England, to that of Calvin ; or a
rescue from one of the devil's furnaces, to pop them
into another." I laughed at this story, I suppose
with a little incredulity, but my Irish friend insisted
on its truth, ending the conversation witb a signifi
cant nod, Catholic as he was, and saying — " hum
bugged infallibility !"
By this time it was eleven o'clock, and as I am
obliged to keep reasonable boOrs, it was time to go
to the party of the evening. Count  , of the
 Legation, gave a great ball. My carriage en
tered the line at the distance of near a quarter of a
mile from the hotel; gensdarmes being actively em
ployed in keeping us all in our places. It was half
an hour before I was set down, and the quad
rilles were in full motion when I entered. It was a
brilliant affair, much the most so I have ever yet
witnessed in a private house. Sorae said there were
fifteen hundred people present. The number seems
incredible, and yet, when one coraes to calculate, it
may be so. As I got into my carriage to go away,
Charles informed me that the people at the gates
affirm that more than six hundred carriages had en-
VoL. II. 13

146

FRANCE.

tered the court that evening. By allowing an ave
rage of little more than two to each vehicle, we get
the number mentioned.
I do not know exactly how many rooms were
opened on this occasion,but I sbould think therewere
fully a dozen. Two or three were very large salons,
and the one in the centre, which was almost at fever
heat, had crimson hangings, by way of cooling one,
I have never witnessed dancing at all comparable to
that of the quadrilles of this evening. Usually there
is either too much or too little of the dancing mas
ter, but on this occasion every one seemed inspired
witb a love of the art. It was a beautiful sight to
see a hundred charming young women, of the first
families of Europe, for they were there of all na
tions, dressed with the simple elegance that is so
becoming to the young of the sex, and which is
never departed from here until after marriage,
moving in perfect time to delightful music, as if
animated by a common soul. The men, too, did
better than usual, being less lugubrious and mourn
ful than our sex is apt to be in dancing. I do not
know how it is in private, but in the world, at
Paris, every young woman seems to have a good
mother ; or, at least, one capable of giving her both
a good tone, and good taste.
At this party I met the  , an intimate friend
of the ambassador, and one who also honours me
vvith a portion of ber friendship. Jn talking over
the appearance of things, she told me that some>
hundreds of applications for invitations to this

FRANCE.

147

ball had been made. "Applications ! I cannot con
ceive of such meanness. In what manner?" "Di
rectly ; by note, by personal intercession — almost
by tears. Be certain of it, many hundreds have
faeen refused." In America we hear of refusals to
go to balls, but we have not yet reached the pass of
sending refusals to invite ! " Do you see Mademoi
selle  , dancing in the set before you ?" She
pointed to a beautiful French girl, whom I had often
seen at her house, but whose family was in a much
lower station in society than herself. " Cerfainly —
pray how came she here?" " I brought her. Her
mother was dying to come, too, and she begged me
to get an invitation for her and her daughter ; but
it would not do to bring the mother fo such a place,
and I was obliged to say no more tickets could be
issued. I wished, however, to bring the daughter,
she is so pretty, and we compromised the affair in
that way." "And to this the mother assented !"
"Assented! How can you doubt it — what funny
American notions you have brought with you to
France !"
I got some droll anecdotes from my companion,
concerning the ingredients of the company on this
occasion, for she could be as sarcastic as she was
elegant. A young woman near us attracted atten
tion by a loud and vulgar manner of laughing.
"Do you know that lady?" demanded my neigh
bour. " I have seen her before, but scarcely know
her name." " She is the daughter of your acquaint
ance, the Marquise de  ." "Then she is, or

148

PRANCE.

was, a Mademoiselle de  ." « She is not, nor
properly ever was, a Mademoiselle de  . In
the revolution the Mai'quis was imprisoned by
you wicked republicans, and the Marquise fled to
England, whence she returned, after an absence of
three years, bringing with her this young lady, then
an infant a few months old." "And Monsieur le
Marquis?" "He never saw his daughter, having
been beheaded in Paris, about a year before her
birth." " Quelle contre tems !" "Nee' est-ce pas?"
It is a melancholy admission, but it is no less true,
that good breeding is sometimes quite as active a
virtue, as good principles. How many more of the
company present were born about a year after their
fathers were beheaded, I have no means of know
ing ; but had it been the case with all of them, the
company would have been of as elegant demeanor,
and of much more retenue of deportment, than we
are accustomed to see, I will not say in good, but
certainly in general society, at home. One of the
consequences of good breeding is also a disinclina
tion, positively a distaste, to pry into the private
affairs of others. The little specimen to the con
trary, just named, was rather an exception, owing to
the character of the individual, and to the indiscre
tion pf the young lady in laughing too loud, and
then the affair of a birth so very posthumous was
rather too patent to escape all criticism.
My friend was in a gossiping mood this evening,
and as she was well turned of fifty, I ventured to
continue the conversation. As some of the liaisons

FRANCE. 149
which exist here must be novel to you, I shall men
tion one or two more.
K, Madame de J-  passed us, leaning on the
arm of M. de C  . I knew the former, who was
a widow ; had frequently visited her, and had been
surprised at the intimacy which existed between
her and M. de C  , who always appeared quite
at home, in her house. I ventured to ask my neigh
bour if the gentleman were the brother of the lady.
" Her brother ! It is to be hoped not, as he is her
husband." " Why does she not bear his name, if
that be the case ?" " Because her first husband is
of a more illustrious family than her second ; and
then there are some difficulties on the score of for
tune. No, no. These people are bond fide mar
ried. Tenez — do you see that gentleman who is
standing so assiduously near the chair of Madame
de S  ? He who is all attention and smiles to
the lady ?" " Certainly — his politeness is even
affectionate." " Well it ought to be, for it is M. de
S  , her husband." " They are a happy couple,
then." " Hors de doute — he meets her at soiries
and balls ; is the pink of politeness ; puts on her
shawl ; sees her safe into her carriage, and — "
" Then they drive home together, as loving as Darby
and Joan." "And then he jumps into his cabriolet,
and drives to the lodgings of  . Bon soir,
monsieur  , you are making me fall into the
vulgar crime of scandal."
Now, as much as all this may sound like inven
tion, it is quite true, that I repeat no more to you
13*

150 FRANCE.
than was said to me, and no more than what I be
lieve to be exact. As respects the latter couple, I
have been elsewhere told tbat they literally never
see each other, except in pablic, where they con
stantly meet, as the best friends in the world.
I was lately in some English society, when Lady
G  het a pair of gloves with Lord R  that he
had not seen Lady R  in a fortnight. The bet
was won by the gentleman, who proved satisfacto
rily that he had met his wife at a dinner party, only
ten days before.
After all I have told you, and all tbat you may
have heard from others, I am nevertheless inclined
to believe, that the high society of Paris is quite as
exemplary as that of any other large European
town. If we are any better ourselves, is it not more
owing to the absence of temptation, than to any
other cause ? Put large garrisons into our towns,
fill the streets with idlers, who have nothing to do
but to render themselves agreeable, and with women
witb whom dress and pleasure are the principal oc
cupations, and then let us see what protestantism
and liberty will avail us, in this- particular. The
intelligent French say that their society is improv
ing in morals. I can believe this, of whicb I think
there is sufficient proof by comparing the present
with the past, as the latter bas been described to us.
By the past, I do not mean the period of the revo
lution, when vulgarity assisted to render vice still
more odious — a happy union, perhaps, for those who
were to follow — but the days of the old rigime.-

PRANCE. 151
Chance has thrown me in the way of three or four
old dowagers of that period, women of high rank,
and still in the first circles, who, amid all their
finesse of breeding, and ease of manner, have had
a most desperate rouie air about them. Their very
laugh, at times, has seemed replete with a bold levi
ty, that was as disgusting as it was unfeminine. I
have never, in any other part of the world, seen
loose sentiments affichis, vvith more effrontery.
These women are the complete antipodes of the
quiet, elegant Princesse de  , who was at Lady
 's, this evening; though some of them
write Princesses on their cards, too.
The influence of a court must be great on the
morals of those who live in its purlieus. Convers
ing with the Due de  , a raan who has had gene
ral currency in the best society of Europe, on this
subject, he said, — "England has long decried our
manners. Previously to the revolution, I admit
they were bad ; perhaps worse than her own ; but
I know nothing in our history as bad as what I late
ly witnessed in England. You know I was there,
quite recently. The king invited me to dine at
Windsor. I found every one in the drawing-room,
but His Majesty and Lady  . She entered but
a minute before him, like a queen. Her reception
was that of a queen ; young, unmarried females
kissed her hand. Now, all this might happen in
France, even now ; but Louis XV., tbe most disso
lute of our monarchs, went no farther. At Wind
sor, I saw the husband, sons, and daughters of the

162 FRANCE.
eighty and one hundred thousand. The qualifica
tions of a deputy being much higher than those of
an elector, it is computed that the four hundred and
fifty members must be elected from among some
four or five thousand available candidates. It is not
pretended that France does not contain more than
this number of individuals who pay a thousand
francs a year in direct taxes, for taxation is so great
that this sum is soon made up ; but a deputy must
be forty years old, a regulation which at once ex
cludes fully one half the men, of itself; and then it
will be recollected that many are superannuated,
several hundreds are peers, others cannot quit their
employments, &c., &c. I have seen the number of
available candidates estimated as low, even, as three
thousand. The elections in France are conducted in a mode
peculiar fo the nation. The electors of the highest
class have two votes, or for representatives- of two
descriptions. This plan was an after-thought of the
king, for the original charter contains no such regu
lation, but the munificent father of the national liber
ties saw fit, subsequently, to qualify his gift Had.
Louis XVIII. lived a little longer, he would most
probably have been dethroned before this ; the hopes
and expectations which usually accompany a new
reign, having, most probably, deferred the crisis for
a few years. The electors form themselves into col
leges, into which no one who is not privileged to vote
is admitted. This is a good regulation, and might
be copied to advantage at home. A law prescribing.

FRANCE.

163

certain limifs around each poll, and rendering it pe
nal for any but those authorized to vote at that par
ticular poll, to cross it, would greatly purify our
elections. The governraent, here, appoints the pre
siding officer of each electoral college, and the se
lection is always carefully made of one in the inte
rests of the ministry, though in what manner such a
functionary can influence the result, is more than I
ean tell you. It is, hovvever, thought to be favour
able to an individual's own election to get this nomi
nation, The vote is by ballot, though the charter
secures no such privilege. Indeed that instrument
is Httle more than a declaration of rights, fortified
by a few general constituent laws.
The same latitude exists here, in fhe constructions
of the charter, as exists at home, in the construc
tions ofthe constitution. The French have, hovv
ever, one great advantage over us, in daring to think
for themselves; for, though there is a party of doc
trinaires, who wish to imitate England, too, it is
neither a numerous nor a strong party. These doc
trinaires, as the name implies, are men who wish
to defer to theories, rather than facts; a class, that
is to be found all over the world. For obvious
reasons, the English system has admirers through
out Europe, as well as in America, since nothing
ean be more agreeable, for those who are in a situa
tion to look forward fo such an advantage, than to
see themselves elevated into, as La Fayette ex
presses, so many « litfle legitimacies." The peer
age, with its exclusive and hereditary benefits, is

164 FRANCE.
the aim of all the nobility of Europe, and wishes
of this sort make easy converts to any philosophy
that may favour the desire.
One meets, here, with droll evidences of the truth
of what I have just told you. I have made the ac
quaintance of a Russian of very illustrious family,
and he has always been loud and constant in- his
eulogiums of America and her liberty. Alluding
to the subject, the other day, he amused me by
naively observing, " Ah, you are a happy people —
you are free — and so are the English. Now, in
Russia, all rank depends on the- commission one
bears in the army, or on the will of the Emperor; I
am a Prince ; my father was a Prince ; my grand
father, too;; but it is of no- avail. I get no privileges
by my birth ; whereas, in England, where I have
been, it is so different— and I dare say it is different
in America, too ?" I told him it was, indeed, "very
different in America." He sighed, and seemed to
envy me.
The party of the doctrinaires is the one that
menaces the most serious evil to France. It is in
herently the party of aristocracy ;¦ and, in a country
as far advanced as France, it is the combinations of
the few, that, after all, are most to be apprehended.
The worst of it is, that, in countries- vvhere abuses
have so long existed, the people get to be so disqua
lified for entertaining free institutions, that even the
disinterested and well-meaning are often induced to
side with the rapacious and selfish, to prevent the
evils of reaction.

PRANCE.

165

In a country so much inclined to speculate, to
philosophize, and to reason on every thing, it is not
surprising that a fundamental law, as vaguely ex
pressed as the charter, should leave ample room for
discussion. We find that our own long experience
in these written instruments, does not protect us
from violent differences of opinion, some of vvhich
are quite as extravagant as any that exist here,
though possibly less apt to lead- to as grave conse
quences.* * The discussion which grew out of the law to protect Ameri
can industry, affords a singular instance of the manner in which
clever men can persuade themselves and others, into any notion,
however extravagant. The uncouth doctrine of nullification tum
ed on ihc construction that might be put on the intimacy of the
fblations created by the TJnion, and on the nature of the sovereign
ties of (be states.
Because the constitution commences with a declaration, that it
is formed and adopted by " we the people of the United States,"
overlooking, not only all the facts of the case, hut misconceiving
the very meaning of the words they quote, one party virtually
contended, that the instrument was formed by a consolidated na
tion. On this point tlieir argument, certainly sustained in part by
unanswerable truth, mainly depends.
The word " people" has notoriously several significations. It
means a "population;" itmeansthe "vulgar;" it means any par
ticular portion of a population, as " rich people," " poor people,"
" mercantile people," &c. &c. In a politieal sense, it has always
l)eeh understood to mean that portion of the population ofa country,
which is possessed of political rights. On this sense, then, it
means a constituency/ in a representative government, and so it
has always been understood in England, and is understood to-day
in France. When a question is referred to the " people" at an
election in Bngland, it is not referred to a tithe of the population,

166

FRANCE.

but to a particular portion of it. In South Carolina and Louisiana,
in the popular sense of Mr. Webster, there is no " people" to re
fer to, a majority of the men of both states possessing no civil
rights, and scarcely having a ci-eil existence. Besides " people,"
m its broad signification, includes men, women and children, and
no one will contend, that the two latter had any thing to do with
the formation of our constitution. It follows, then, that the term
has been used in a limited sense, and we must look to incidental
facts to discover its meaning.
The convention was chosen not By any common consti
tuency, but by the constituencies of the several states, which, at
that time, embraced every gradation between a democratical and
an aristocratical polity. Thirteen states existed in 1787, andyet
the constitution was to go into effect when it was adopted by any
nine of them. It will not be pretended that this decision would
be binding on the other four, and yet it is possible that these four
dissenting states should contain more than half of all the popula
tion of the confederation. It would be very easy to put a propo
sition, in which it might be demonstrated arithmetically, that the
constitution could have been adopted against a considerable ma
jority of whole numbers. In the face of such a fact, it is folly to
suppose the term " people" is used in any other than a conven
tional sense. It is well known, in addition to the mode of its
adoption, that every provision of the constitution can be alter
ed, with a single exception, by three-fourths of the states. Per
haps more than half of the entire population, (excluding, tlie Ter
ritories and the District,) is in six of the largest states, at this mo
ment. But whether this be so or not, such a combination could
easily be made, as would demonstrate that less than a tliird of the
population of the country, can at any time alter the constitution.
It is probable that the term " we the people," was used in a
sort of contra-distinction to the old implied right of the sovereignty
of the king, just as we idly substituted the words " God save the
people," at the end of a proclamation, for " God save the king."
It was a form. But, if it is desirable to affix to tbem any more pre
cise signification, it will not do to generalize, according to the ar
gument of one party ; but we are to take the words, in their limit-

FRANCE. 16'^
ed and apptopriate meaning, and with their accompanying facts.
They can only allude to the constituencies, and these constitu
encies existed only through the states, and were as varied as their
several systems. If the meaning of the term "wo the people"
was misconceived, it follows that the argument which was drawn
from the error was worthless. The constitution of the United
States was not formed by the people of the United States, but by
such a portion of them as it suited the several states to invest with
political powers, and under such combinations as gave the decision
to any thing -but a majority of the nation. In other words, the
constitution was certainly formed by the states as poUtical bodies,
and without any necessary connection withany general or uniform
system of pohty.
Any theory based on the separate sovereignties of the states,
has, on the other hand, a frail support. The question was not ivho
formed the constitution, but -what was formed. All the great
powers of sovereignty, such as foreign relations, the right to treat,
make war and peace, to control commerce, to coin money, &c.
&c. are expressly ceded. But these are not, after all, the greatest
blows that are given to the doctrine of reserved sovereignty. A
power to alter the constitution, as has just been remarked, has
been granted, by which even the dissenting statea have become
bound. The only right reserved, is that of the equal representa
tion in the senate, and it would follow, perhaps, as a legitimate
consequence, the preservation of the confederated polity ; but
South Carolina could, under the theory of the constitution, be
stripped of her right to control nearly eveiy social interest ; every
man, woman and child in the state dissenting. It is scarcely worth
while to construct a sublimated theory, on the sovereignty of a
community so situated by the legitimate theory of the govem
ment, under which it actually exists !
No means can be devised, that will always protect the weak
from the aggressions of the strong, under the forms of law ; and
nature has pointed out the remedy, when the preponderance of
good is against submission ; but one cannot suppress his expres
sion of astonishment, at flnding any respectable portion of a
reasoning community, losmg sight of this simple and self-evident

168 FRANCE.
truth, to uphold a doctrine i^s weak as that of nullification, view
ed, as a le^aj remedy.
If thp Aflierican, statesmen, {quasi and real,) would imitate,
the good ciirfite and the bachelor of Don Quixote, by burning all
the politicaj heresies, vyith which their libraries, not to say- their
brains, arc; now crammed, and' set seriously about studying the
terms, and tlie nature of the national coinpact, vdtbout reference
to the notions of men who Ijad no connection with the country^
the public vyonld be the gainer^, and occasionally one of them
might stand a chance ofdescending to posterity in some other light
than that of th^ mere leader of a faction,

FRANCE.

169

LETTER IX.
To R. Cooper, Esq.', Cooperstown.
I HAVE said nothing to you of La Grange, though
I have novv been there no less than three times.
Shortly after our arrival in Paris, Gen. La Fayette
had the kindness to send us an invitation, but we
were deterred from going, for some time, by the
indisposition of one of the family. In the autumn
of 1826 I went, however, alone; in the spring I
went again, carrying Mrs.  with me ; and I
have now just returned from a third visit, in vvhich
I went with my wife, accompanied by one or two
more of the family.
It is about twenty-seven miles from Paris to Ro-
say, a small town that is a league from the castle.
This is not a post-route^ the great road ending at
Rosay, and vve were obliged to go the whole dis
tance with the same hor.ses. Paris is left by the
Boulevard de la Bastile, the Barrilre du Trone,
and the chdteau and woods of Vincennes. The
second time I went into Brie, it was with the gen
eral himself, and in his own carriage. He showed
me a small pavilion, that is still standing in a gar
den near the old site of the Bastile,- and which he
told me once belonged to the hotel that Beaumar
chais inhabited, when in his glory, and in which
Vol. II. 15

170 FRANCE.
pavilion this witty writer was accustomed to work.
The roof was topped by a vane, to show which
way the wind blew, and in pure fanfaronade, or
, to manifest his contempt for principles, the author
of Figaro had caused a large copper pen to do the
duty of a weather-cock, and there it stands to this
day, a curious memorial equally of his wit and of
his audacity.
At the Barrilre du Trone the general pointed
out to me the spot where two of his female con
nexions suffered under the guillotine, during the
reign of terror. On one occasion, in passing, we
entered the castle of Vincennes, which is a sort of
citadel for Paris, and which has served for a state
prison since the destruction of the Bastile. Almost
all of these strong old places were formerly the
residences of the kings, or of great nobles, the
times requiring that they should live constantly
protected by ditches and walls.
Vincennes, like the tower of London, is a col
lection of old buildings, enclosed within a wall, and
surrounded by a ditch. The latter, however, is
dry. The most curious of the structures, and the
one whicb gives the place ifs picturesque appear
ance, in the distance, is a cluster of exceedingly
slender, tall, round towers, in which the prisoners
are usually confined, and which is the donjon of
the hold. This building, which contains many
vaulted rooms piled on each other, was formerly
' the royal abode, and it has even now a ditch of its
own, though it stands within the outer walls of the

FRANCE.

171

place. There are many other high towers on the
walls, and until the reign of Napoleon there were
still more, but he caused them to be razed to tho
level of the walls, which of themselves are suffici
ently high.
The chapel is a fine building, being Gothic. It
was consfructed in the time of Charles V. There
are also two or three vast corps de batiments,
which are almost palaces in extent and design,
though they are now used only as quarters for of
ficers, &c. &c. The donjon dates from the same
reign. The first room in this building is called the
saile de la question-, a name vvhich sufficiently de
notes its infernal use. That of the upper story is
the room in which the kings of France formerly
held their councils. The walls are sixteen feet
thick, and the rooms are thirty feet high. As there
are five stories, this donjon cannot be less than a
hundred and forty or fifty feet in elevation. The
view from the summit is very extensive, though it
is said that, in the time of Napoleon, a screen was
built around the battlement, to prevent the prison
ers, when they took the air, from enjoying it As
this conqueror was cruel from policy alone, it is
probable this was merely a precaution against sig
nals ; for it is quite apparent, if he desired to tor
ment his captives, France has places better adapted
to the object than even the donjon of Vincennes.
I am not his apologist, however ; for, while I shall
not go quite as far as the Englishman who main
tained, in a laboured treatise, that Napoleon was the

172 PRANCE.
beast of the Revelations, I believe he was any
thing but a god.
Vincennes was a favourite residence of St. Louis,
and there is a tradition that he used to take his seat
under a particular oak, in the adjoining forest,
where all who pleased were permitted to come
before him, and receive justice from himself
Henry V. of England died in the donjon of Vin
cennes, and I believe his successor, Henry VI. was'
born in the same building. One gets a better no
tion ofthe state of things, in the ages of feudality,
by jjassing an hour in examining such a hold, than
in a week's reading. After going through this
habitation, and studying its barbarous magnificence,
I feel much more disposed to believe that Shak
speare has not outraged probability in his dialogue
between Henry and Catharine, than if I had never
seen it, bad as that celebrated love scene is.
Shortly after quitting Vincennes, the road crosses
the Marne, and stretches away across a broad bot
tom. There is litfle of interest between Paris and
Rosay. The principal house is that of Gros Bois,
vvhich once belonged to Moreau, I believe, but is
now the property of the Prince de Wagram, the
5'oung son of Berthier. The grounds are exten
sive, and the house is large, though I think neither
in very good taste, at least so far as one could
judge. in passing.
There are two or three ruins on this road, of
some historical interest, btit not of much beauty.
There is usually a nakedness, unrelieved by trees

PRANCE. 173
or other picturesque accessories, about the French
ruins, which robs them of half their beauty, and
dirty, squalid, hamlets and villages, half the time,
come in to render the picture still less interesting.
At Rosay another route is taken, and La Grange
is approached by the rear, after turning a small bit
of wood. It is possible to see the tops of the tow
ers, for an instant, on the great road before reach
ing the town.
It is not certainly known in what age the chd
teau was built, but, from its form, and a few facts
connected vvith its origin, whose dates are ascer
tained, it is thought to be about five hundred years
old. It never was more than a second-rate build
ing of its class, though it was clearly intended for
a baronial hold. Originally, the name was La
Grange en Brie, but by passing into a new family
it got the appellation of La Grange Bleneau, by
which it is known at present. You are sufficiently
familiar with French to understand that grange
means barn or granary, and that a liberal translation
would make it Bleneau-farm.
In 1399, a marriage took place between the son
of the lord of La Grange en Brie, with a daughter
of a branch of the very ancient and great faniily of
Courtenay, which had extensive possessions, at
that time, in Brie. It vvas this marriage which
gave the new name to the castle, the estate in con
sequence passing into the line of Courtenay-Bli-
neau. In 1595 the property, by another raarriage
with an heiress, passed into the well-known family
15*

174 FRANCE.
d'Aubussons, Comtes de la Feuillade. The first
proprietor of this name was the grandfather of the
Marischal de la Feuillade, the courtier who caused
the Place de la Victoire to be constructed at Paris,
and he appropriated the revenues of the estate,
which, in 1686, were valued at nine thousand francs,
to the support and completion of his work of flat
tery. The property at that time was, however,
much more extensive than it is at present. The
son of this courtier dying without issue in 1725,
the estate was purchased by M. Dupre, one of the
fudges of France.
With this magistrate commences, I believe, the
connexion of the ancestors of the La Fayettes
with the property. The only daughter married
M. d'Aguesseau ; and her daughter again, mar
ried the due de Noailles-d'Ayen, carrying with
her, as a marriage portion, the lands of Fontenay,
La Grange, &c. &c., or in other words, the ancient
possessions of M. de la^ Feuillade. The Marquis
de La Fayette married one of the Mesdemoiselles
de NoaiUes, while he was still a youth, and when
the estate, after a short sequestration, was restored
to the family, General La Fayette received the
chdteau of La Grange, with some six or eight
hundred acres of land around it, as his wife's
portion.* * Mr. Adams, in his Eulogy on La Fayette, has called the
due de NoaiUes, the first peer of France. The fact is of no
great moment, but accuracy is ahvays better than error. I
believe the due de NoaiUes was the youngest of the old dues

FRANCE.

175

Although the house is not very spacious for a
chdteau of the region in which it stands, it is a
considerable edifice, and one of the most pictur
esque I have seen in this country. The buildings
stand on three sides of an irregular square. The
fourth side must have been either a high wall, or
a range of lovv offices formerly, to complete the
court and the defences, but every vestige of them
have long since been removed. The ditch, too,
which originally encircled the vvhoie castle, has
been filled in, on two sides, though still remaining
on the two others, and greatly contributing to the
beauty of the place, as the water is li-ving, and is
made to serve the purposes of a fish-pond. We
had carp from it, for breakfast, the day after our
arrival. La Grange is constructed of hewn stone, of a
good greyish colour, and in parts of it there are
some respectable pretensions to architecture. I
think it probable that one of its fronts has been
rebuilt, the style being so much better than the
rest of the structure. There are five towers, all of
which are round, and have the plain, high, pyri-
midal roof, so common in France. They are with
out cornices, battlements of any sort, or, indeed,
any relief to the circular masonry. One, how
ever, has a roofof a square form, though the exte-

el pairs of France. The duo d'Uz^s, I have always under
stood was the oldest.

176 PRANCE.
rior of the tower itself is, at least, in part, round.
All the roofs are of slate.
The approach to the castle is circuitous, until
quite near it, when the road enters a little thicket
of evergreens, crosses a bridge, and passes beneath
an arch to the court, which is paved. The bridge
is now permanent, though there was once a draw,
and the grooves of a port-cullis are still visible
beneath the arch. The shortest side of the square
is next the hridge, the building offering here but
little more than the two towers, and the room
above the gate-way. One of these towers forms
the end of this front of the castle, and the other is
of course, at an angle. On the exterior, they are
both buried in ivy, as well as the building which
connects them. This ivy was planted by Charles
Fox, who, in company with General Fitzpatrick
visited La Grange, after the peace of Amiens.
The windows, which are small and irregular on
this side, open beautifully through the thick
foliage, and as Ibis is the part of the structure that
is occupied by the children of the family, their
blooming faces thrust through the leafy apertures
have a singularly pleasing effect. The other three
towers stand, one near the centre of the principal
corps de bdtiment, one at the other angle, and the
third at the end of the wing opposite that of the
gate. The towers vary in size, and are all more or
less buried in the walls, though still so distinct as
greatly to relieve the latter, and every where to
rise above them. On the open side of the court

TRAiSCl!}. 177
there is no ditch, but the ground, which is alto
gether park-like, and beautifully arranged, falls
away, dotted with trees and copses, tovvards a dis
tant thicket.
Besides the rez de chanssie, vvhich is but litfle
above the ground, there are two good stories all
round the buildina;, and even more in the towers.
The dining-room and offices are below, and there
IS also a small oratory, or chapel, though I believe
none of the family live there. The entrance to
the principal apartments is opposite the gate, and
there is also here, an exterior door vvhich commu
nicates directly with the lawn, the ditch running
behind the other wing, and in front of the gate
only. The great stair-case is quite good, being
spacious, easy of ascent, and of marble, vvith a
handsome iron railing. It was put there by the
mother of Madame La Fayette, I believe, and the
general told me, it was nearly the only thing of
value, that he found among the fixtures, on taking
possession. It had escaped injury.
I should think the length of the house on the
side of the square which contains fhe stair-case,
might be ninety feet, including the tower at the
end, and the tower at the angle ; and perhaps the
side which contains the offices, may be even a little
longer ; though this will also include the same
tower in the same angle, as well as the one at the
opposite corner; while the side in which is the
gate-way can scarcely exceed sixty feet. If my
estimates, which are merely made by the eye, are

^'S PRANCE.
correct, including the towers, this would give an
outside wall of two hundred and fifty feet, in cir
cuit Like most 'French buildings, the depth is
coraparatively much less. I question if the outer
drawing-room is more than eighteen feet wide,
though it is near thirty long. This room has win
dows on the court and on the lawn, and is the first
apartment one enters after ascending the stairs. It
communicates with the inner drawing-room-, which
is in the end tower of this side of the chdteau, is
quite round, of course, and may be twenty feet in
diameter. The General's apartments are on the second
floor. They consist of his bed-room, a large cabi
net, and the librarjr. The latter is in the tower at
the angle, on the side ofthe stair-case. Itis circu
lar, and from its windows overlooks the moat,
which is beautifully shaded by willows and other
trees. It contains a respectable collection of books,
besides divers curiosities.
The only bed-rooms I have occupied are, one in
the tower, immediately beneath the library, and
the other in the side tower, or the only one which
does not stand at an angle, or at an end of the
huilding. I believe, however, that the entire edi
fice, with the exception of the oratory, the offices,
the dining-room, which is a large apartment on the
rez de chaussie, the two drawing-rooms, two or
three cabinets, and the library, and perhaps a
fahiily-room or two, such as a school-room, paint
ing-room, &c., is subdivided into sleeping apart
ments, with the necessary cabinets and dressing.

PRANCE. 179
rooms. Including the family, I have known
thirty people to be lodged in the house, besides
servants, and I should think it might even lodge
more. Indeed its hospitality seems to know no
limits, for every new comer appears to be just as
welcome as all the others.
The cabinet of La Fayette communicates wifh
the library, and I passed much of the time during
our visit, alone vvith him, in these tvvo rooms. I
may say that this was the commencement of a
confidence with which he has since continued to
treat me, and of a more intimate knowledge of the
amiable features and simple integrity of his charac
ter, that has greatly added to my respect No one
can be pleasanter in private, and he is full of histo
rical anecdotes, that he tells with great simplicity,
and frequentiy with great humour. The cabinet
contains many portraits, and, among others, one of
Mad. de Stael, and one ofhis own father. The
fornjer I am assured is exceedingly like ; it is not
the resemblance ofa very fascinating woman. In
the latter I find more resemblance to some of the
grand children than to the son, although there is
something about the shape of the head that is not
unlike that of La Fayette's.
Gen. La Fayette never knew his father, who was
killed, when he was quite an infant, at the battle of
Minden. I believe the general was an only child,
for I have never heard him speak of any brother
or sister, nor indeed of any relative at all, as I can
remember, on his own side, though he often alludes

180 FRANCE,
to the connexions he made by his marriage. I
asked him how his father happened to be styled
the Comte de La Fayette, and he to be called the
Marquis. He could not tell me : his grandfather
was the Marquis de La Fayette, his father the
Comte, and he again was termed the Marquis.
" I know very little about it," said he, " beyond
this. I found myself a little Marquis, as I grew
to know any thing, and boys trouble themselves
very little about such mafters ; and then I soon got
tired of the name, after I went to America. I
cannot explain all the foolish distinctions of the
feudal times, but I very well remember that when
I was quite a boy, I had the honour to go through
the ceremony^ of appointing the curi of a very
considerable town in Auvergne, of which I was
the Seigneur. My conscience has been quite easy
about the nomination, however, as my guardians
must answer for the sin, if there be any,"
I was at a small dinner given by the Comte de
Sigur, just before we went to La Grange, and at
which Gen, La Fayette and M. Alexander de La
meth were also guests. The three had served in
America, all of them having been colonels while
little more than boys. In the course of the con
versation, M. de Lameth jokingly observed that
the Americans paid the greater deference to Gen,
La Fayette because he was a Marquis. For a long
time there had been but one Marquis in England,
(Lord Rockingham) and the colonists appreciating
all other Marquises by this standard, had at once

PRANCE, 181
thought they would do no less than make the Mar
quis de La Fayette a general. " As for myself,
though I vvas the senior colonel, and (as I under
stood him to say) his superior in personal rank, I
passed for nobody, because I was only a chevalier."
This sally was laughed at, at the time, though there
is something very unsettled in the use of those ar
bitrary personal distinctions on which the French
formerly laid so much stress. I shall not attempt
to explain them. I contented myself by whisper
ing fo M. de Lameth, that we certainly knew very
little of such matters in America, but I questioned
if we were ever so ignorant as to suppose there
was only one Marquis in France. On the con
trary, we are a little foo apt to fancy every French
man a Marquis.
There vvas formerly a regular parish church at
tached to the chdteau, which is still standing. It
is very small, and is within a short distance of the
gate-way. The congregation was composed solely
of the inhabitants of the chdteau, and the people
of the farm. The church contains epitaphs and
inscriptions in memory of three of the d'Aubus
sons, whose hearts were buried here, viz. Leon,
Comte de la Feuillade,a lieutenant-general; Gabriel,
Marquis de Monfargis ; and Paul d'Aubusson, a
knight of Malta ; all of whom were killed young,
in battle.
The general has about three hundred and fifty
acres in cultivation, and more than two in wood,
pasture and meadow. The place is in very excel-
VoL. II. 16

182

FRANCE.

lent condition, and seems to be Well attended to-
I have galloped all over it, on a little filly belong
ing to one of the young gentlemen, and have found
beauty and utility as nicely blended, as is often to
be met with, even in England, the true country of
fermes monies, though the name is imported.
The third day of our visit, we all drove three or
four leagues across the country, to see an old ruin
of a royal castle called Vivier, This name implies
a pond, and sure enough we found the remains of
the buildings in the midst of two or three pools of
water. This has been a considerable house, the
ruins being still quite extensive and rather pretty.
It was originally the property of a great noble, but
the kings of France were in possession of it, as
early as the year 1300. Charles V. had a great
affection for Vivier, and very materially increased
its establishment. His son, Charles VL, who was
at times deranged, was often confined here, and it
was after his reign, and by means of the long wars
that ravaged France, that the place came to be
finally abandoned as a royal abode. Indeed it is
not easy to see why a king should ever have chosen
this spot at all for his residence, unless it might
be for the purpose of hunting, for even now it is
in a retired, tame, and far from pleasant part of the
country. There are the ruins of a fine chapel and of two
towers of considerable interest, beside extensive
fragments of more vulgar buildings. One of these
towers, being very high and very slender, is a stri-

FRANCE. 183
king object; but, from its form and position, it was
one of those narrow wells that were attached to
larger towers, and which contained nothing but the
stairs. They are commonly to be seen in the ruins
of edifices built in the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries, in France ; and, what is worthy of re
mark, in several instances, notwithstanding their
slender forms, I have met with them standing, al
though their principals have nearly disappeared.
I can only account for if, by supposing that their
use and delicacy of form have required more than
ordinary care in the construction.
The ruins of Vivier, belong to M. Parquin, a
distinguished lawyer of Paris. This gentleman
has a small country bouse nearby, and General La
Fayette took us all to see him. We found him at
home, and met, quite as a matter of course, with
a polite reception, M, Parquin gave us much cu
rious imformation about the ruin, and took us to
see some of the subterraneous passages that he has
caused to be opened.
It is thought that some of these artificial caverns
were prisons, and that others were intended merely
as places for depositing stores. The one we enter
ed was of beautiful masonry, vaulted with the
nicest art, and seemed to comraunicate with the
ruins, although the outlet was in the open field
and some distance from the walls. It might have
been intended for the double purpose of a store
house and an outlet ; for it is rare to meet with a
palace, or a castle, that has. not, more or less, of

i

84

FRANCE,

these private means of entrance and retreat The
Tuileries is said to abound with them, and I bave
been shown the line of an under-ground passage,
between that palace and one of the public hotels,
which must be fully a quarter of a mile in length,
Du Laure gives an extract from a report of the
state of the chdteau of Vivier, made about the
year 1700, with a view to know whether its
condition were such as to entitle the place to
preserve certain of its privileges. In this docu--
ment, the castle is described as standing in the
centre of a marsh, surrounded by forest, and as
so remote from all civilization, as to be nearly for
gotten. This, it will be remembered, is the ac
count of a royal abode, that stands within thirty
miles of Paris !
In the very heart of the French capital, are the
remains of an extensive palace of one of the Ro
man Emperors, and yet it may be questioned if
one in a thousand, of those who live wifhin a mile
of the spot, have the least idea of the origin of the
buildings. I have inquired about it, in its imme
diate neighbourhood, and it was with considera
ble difficulty, I could discover any one who even
knew that there was such a ruin at all, in the street
The great number of similar objects, and the habit
of seeing them daily, has some such effect on one,
as the movement of a crowd in a public thorough
fare, where images pass so incessantly before the
eye, as to leave no impression of their peculiari
ties. Were a solitary bison to scamper through the

FRANCE. 185
rue St. Honori, the worthy Parisians would trans
mit an account of his exploits to their children's
children, while the > way-farer on the prairies
takes little heed of the flight of a herd. As we
went to La Grange, we stopped at a tavern, oppo
site to which was the iron gate of a small chdteau.
I asked the girl vvho was preparing our gouter, to
whom the house belonged. " I am sorry I cannot
tell you, sir," she answered; and then seeing sus
picion in my face, she promptly added — "fordo
you see, sir, I have only been here six weeks."
Figure to yourself an American girl, set down op
posite an iron gate, in the country, and how long
do you imagine she woiild be ignorant of the
owner's name? If the blood of those pious inqui
sitors, the puritans, were in her veins, she would
know more, not only of the gate, but of its owner ;
his wife, his children, his means, his hopes, wishes,
intentions and thoughts, than he ever knew him
self, or would be likely to know. But if this pro
minent love of meddling, which in its very nature
must of necessity lead to what is worse than con
tented ignorance, gossipping error, and a wrong
estimate of our fellow creatures, it has, at least,
the advantage of keeping a people from falling
asleep over their everye day facts. There is no
question that the vulgar and low bred propensity
of conjecturing, raeddling, corabining, with their
unavoidable companion, inventing, exists to a vice,
among a portion of our people ; but, on the other
hand, it is extremely inconvenient when one is
16*

186 PRANCE,
travelling, and wishes to know the points of' the
compass, as has happened to myself, if he should
ask a full grown woman whereabouts the sun rises
in that neighbourhood, he is repulsed with the
answer, that — "Monsieur ought to know that better
than a poor garden-woman like rae !"
We returned to Paris, after a pleasant visit of
three days at La Grange, during which we had
delightful weather, and altogether a most agreeable
time. The habits of the family are very regular
and simple, but the intercourse has the freedom
and independence of a country-house. We were
all in the circular drawing-room, a little before ten,
breakfast being served between ten and eleven.
The table was French, the morning repast consist
ing of light dishes of meat, compotes, fruits, and
sometimes soupe au lait ; one of the simplest and
best things for such a meal, that can he imagined.
As a compliment to us Americans, we had fish
fried and broiled, but I rather think^ this was an
innovation. Wine, to drink with water, as a matter
of course, was on the table. The whole ended
with a cup of cafi au lait. The morning tben
passed as each one saw fit. The young men went
shooting, the ladies drove out, or read, or had a
little music, While the general and myself were
either walking about the farm, or were conversing
in the library. We dined at six, as at Paris, and
tea was made in the drawing-room about nine.
I was glad to hear from General La Fayette, that
the reports of Americans making deraands on his

PRANCE. 18.7
purse, like so many other silly rumours that are
circulated, merely because some one has fancied
such a thing might be so, are untrue. On the con
trary, he assures me that applications of this na
ture are very seldom made, and most of those that
have been made have proved to come from Eng
lishmen, who have thought they might . swindle
him in this form. I have had at least a dozen such
applications myself, but I take it nothing is easier,
in general, than to distinguish between an Ameri
can, and a native of Great Britain. It vvas agreed
between us, that in future, all applications of this
nature, should be sent to me for investigation.*
* Under this arrangement, two or three years later, an
applicant was sent for examination, under very peculiar cir
cumstances. The man represented himself to be a shop
keeper of Baltimore, who had come to England with his wife
and child, to purchase goods. He had been robbed of al] he
had, according to his account of the matter, about a thousand
pounds in sovereigns, and vvas reduced to want, in a strange
country. After trying all other means, in vain, he bethought
him of coming to Paris, to apply to General La Fayette, for
succour. He had just money enough to do this, having lefl
his wife in Liverpool. He appeared with an English passport,
looked like an Englishman, and had even caught some ofthe
low English idioms, suoh as, " I am agreeable," for " it is
agreeable to me," or; "I agree to do so," &c. &c. The
writer was exceedingly puzzled to decide as to this man's
nationality. At length, in describing his journey to Paris, he
said, " they took my passport , from me, when we got to the
lines." This settled the matter, as no one but an American
would call a, frontier, the lines. He proved, in the end, to be
an American, and a great rogue.

188 FRANCE.
LETTER X.
To R. CooPEB, Esq., Cooperstown.
We all went to bed, a night or two since, as
usual, and awoke to learn that there had been a
fight in the capital. One of the countless under
plots had got so near the surface, that it threw up
smoke. It is said, that about fifty were killed and
wounded, chiefly on the part of the populace.
The insecurity of the Bourbons is little under
stood in America. It is little understood even by
those Americans, who pass a few months in the
country, and in virtue of frequenting the cafis,
and visiting the theatres, fancy they know the
people. Louis XVIII. was more than once on the
point of flying, again, between the year 1815 and
his death; for since the removal of the allied troops,
there is really no force for a monarch to depend
on, more especially in and around the capital, the
army being quite as likely to take sides against
them, as for them.
The government has determined on exhibiting
vigour, and there was a great show of troops the
night succeeding the combat. Curious to see the
effect of all this, two or three of us got into a car
riage and drove through the streets, about nine
o'clock. We found some two or three thousand

PRANCE. 189
men on the boulevards, and the rue St. Denis, in
particular, which had been fhe scene of the late
disorder, was watched with jealous caution. In
all, there might have been four or five thousand
men under arms. They were merely in readiness,
leaving a free passage for carriages, though in some
of the narrow streets, we found the bayonets pretty
near our faces.
An American being supposed ex officio, as it
were, to be a well-wisher to the popular cause,
there is, perhaps, a slight disposition to look at
us with distrust. The opinion of our travellers'
generally favouring liberty is, in my judgment,
singularly erroneous, the feelings of a majority
being, on the whole, just the other way, for, at
least, the first year or two of their European ex
perience ; though, I think, it is to be noticed, by
the end of that time, that they begin to lose sight of
the personal interests which, at home, have made
them any thing but philosophers on such subjects,
, and to see and appreciate the immense advantages
of freedom over exclusion, although the predomi
nance of the former may not always favour their
own particular views. Such, at least, has been the
result of my own observations, and so far from con
sidering a fresh arrival from home, as being likely to
be an accession to our httle circle of liberal princi
ples, I liave generally deemed all such individuals
as being more likely to join the side of the aris
tocrats, or the exclusionists in politics. This is not
the moment to enter into an examination of the

190

PRANCE.

causes that have led to so singular a contradic
tion between opinions and facts, though I think the
circumstance is not to he denied, for it is now my
intention to give you an account of the manner in
which matters are managed here, rather than enter
into long investigations of the state of society at
home. Not long after my arrival in France, a visit was
announced, from a person who was entirely un
known to me, but who called himself a littirateur.
The first interview passed off, as such interviews
usually do, and circumstances not requiring any re
turn on my part, it was soon forgotten. Within a
fortnight, however, I received visit the second,
when the conversation took a political turn, my
guest freely abusing the Bourbons, the aristocrats,
and the present state of things in France. I did
little more than listen. When the way was thus
opened, I was asked if I adraired Sir Walter Scott,
and particularly what I thought of Ivanhoe, or,
rather, if I did not think it an indifferent book. A
little surprised at such a question, I told ray littira
teur, that Ivanhoe appeared to me to be very une-
qual,,the first half being incoraparably the best, but
that, as a whole, I thought it stood quite at the head
of the particular sort of roraances to which it be
longed. The Antiquary, and Guy Mannering, for
instance, were both much nearer perfection, and, on
the whole, I thought both better books ; but Ivan
hoe, especially its commencement, was a noble poera.
But did I not conderan the want of histbrical truth

PRANCE, - 191
in its pictures? I did not consider Ivanhoe as in
tended to be history ; it vvas a work of the imagina
tion, in which all the fidelity that was requisite, was
enough to be probable and natural, and that requisite
I thought it possessed in an eminent degree. It is true,
antiquarians accused the author of having committed
some anachronisms, by confounding the usages of dif
ferent centuries, which was perhaps a greater fault,
in such a vvork, than to confound mere individual
characters ; but ofthis I did not pretend to judge, not
being the least of an antiquarian myself Did I not
think he had done gross injustice fo the noble and
useful order of the Templars? On this point I could
say no more than on the preceding, having but a
very superficial knowledge of the Templars, though
I thought fhe probabilities seemed to be perfectly
well respected. Nothing could seem to be more
true, than Scott's pictures. My guest then went
into a long vindication of the Templars, stating that
Scott had done them gross injustice, and concluding
with an exaggerated compliment, in which it was
attempted to persuade me that I was the man to vin
dicate the truth, and to do justice fo a subject that
was so peculiarly connected with liberal principles,
I disclaimed the ability to undertake such a task, at
all ; confessed that I did not wish to disturb the
images vvhich Sir Walter Scott had left, had I the
ability ; and declared I did not see the connection
between his accusation, admitting it to be true, and
liberal principles. My visitor soon after went away,
and I saw no more of him for a week, when he came

192 PRANCi;.
again. On this occasion, he commenced by relating
several piquant anecdotes of the Bourbons and
their friends, gradually and ingeniously leading the
conversation, again, round to his favourite Templars,
After pushing me, for half an hour, on this point,
alvvays insisting on my being the man to vindicate
the order, and harping on its connection with liber
ty, he took advantage of one of my often-repeated
protestations of ignorance of the whole matter, sud
denly to say — "well, then,Monsieur, go and see for
yourself, and you will soon be satisfied that my ac
count of the order is true." "Go and see what?"
" The Templars." " There are no longer any,"
" They exist still." " Where?" " Here, in Paris."
" This is new to me ; I do not understand it" "The
Templars exist; they possess documents to prove
how much Scott has misrepresented them, and —
but, you will remember that the actual, government
has so much jealousy, of every thing it does not con
trol, that secrecy is necessary — and, to be frank with
you, M,  , I am commissioned by the Grand
Master, to invite you to be present, at a secret meet
ing, this very week."
Of course, I immediately conjectured that some
of the political agitators of the day had assumed ^
this taking guise, in order to corabine their means,
and carry out their plans. '^ The proposition was
* Since the revolution of 1830, these Templars have made
public, but abortive efforts, to bring themselves into notice, by in
stituting some ceremonies, in which they appeared openly in their
robes.

PRANCE. 193
gotten rid of, by my stating, in terms that could not
be misunderstood, that I vvas a traveller, and did
not wish to meddle with any thing that required se
crecy, in a foreign government ; that I certainly had
my own political notions, and if pushed, should not
hesitate to avow them anywhere ; that the proper
place for a writer to deelare his sentiments, was in
his books, unless under circumstances which autho
rized him to act; that I did not conceive foreigners
were justifiable in going beyond this ; that I never
had meddled witb the affairs of foreign countries,
and that I never would ; and that the fact of this
society's being secret, was sufficient to deter me
from visiting it. With this answer, my guest de
parted, and he never came again,
Novv, the first impression was, as I have told you,
and I supposed my visitor, although a man of fifty,
was one of those who innocently lent himself to
these silly exaggerations; either as a dupe, or to
dupe others. I saw reason, however, to change this
opinion. At the time these visits occurred, I scarcely knew
any one in Paris, and was living in absolute retire
ment — being, as you know already, quite without ,
letters. About ten days after I saw the last of my
littirateur, I got a letter from a high functionary
of the government, sending me a set of valuable
medals. The following day, these were succeeded
by his card, and an invitation to dinner. Soon after,
another person, notoriously connected with court
intrigues, sought me out, and overwhelmed me with
Vol. II. 17

194 PRANCE.
civilities. In a conversation that shortly after oc
curred between us, this person gave a pretty direct
intimation, that by pushing a little, a certain decora
tion that is usually conferred on literary men, was
to be had, if it were desired. I got rid of all these
things, in the straight-forward manner, that is the
best for upsetting intrigues ; and having really
nothing to conceal, I was shortly permitted to take
myown course.
I have now little doubt that the littirateur was
a spy, sent, either to sound me on some point con
nected with La Fayette and the republicans, or pos
sibly to lead me into some difficulty, though I admit
that this is no more than conjecture. I give you the
facts, which, at the fime, struck me as, at least, odd,
and you may draw your own conclusions. This,
however, is but one of a dozen adventures, more or
less similar, that have occurred, and I think it well
to mention it, by way of giving you an insight into
what sometiraes happens here,*
My rule has been, whenever I ara pushed on the
subject of politics, to deal honestly and sincerely
with all with whom I am brought in contact, and in
no manner to leave the impression, that I tbink the
popular forra of government an unavoidable evil, to
which Araerica is obliged to submit. I do not shut
my eyes to the defects of our own system, or to the
* A conversation, which took place after the revolution of
1830, with one of the parties named, leaves little doubt as to
tbe truth of the original conjecture.

FRANCE. 195
bad consequences that flow from it, and from it
alone; but, the more I see of other countries, the
more I am persuaded, that, under circumstances
which admit hut of a choice of evils, we are greatly
the gainers by having adopted it AlUiough I do
not believe every other nation is precisely fitted to
imitate us, I think it is their misfortune they are
not so. If the inhabitants of other countries do
not like to hear such opinions, they should avoid
the subject with Americans.
It is very much the custom here, whenever the
example of America is quoted in favour of the prac
ticability of republican institutions, to attribute our
success to the fact of society's being so simple, and
the people so virtuous. I presume I speak within
bounds, when I say that I have heard the latter
argument urged a hundred times, during the last
eighteen months. One lady, in particular, who is
exceedingly clever, but vvho has a dread of all re
publics, on account of having lost a near friend du
ring the reign of terror, was especially in the prac
tice of resorting to this argument, whenever, in our
frequent playful discussions of the subject, I have
succeeded in disturbing her inferences, by citing
American facts, " Mais, Monsieur, I'Amirique
est si jeunes, et vous avez les vertues que nous
manquons," &c., &c., has always been thought a
sufficient answer. Now, I happen to be one of those
who do not entertain such extravagant notions of
the exclusive and peculiar virtues of our own coun
try. Nor, have I been so much struck with the

196 PRANCE.
profound respect of the Europeans, in general, for
those very qualities that,, nevertheless, are always
quoted as the reason of the success of what is called
the " American experiment" Quite the contrary :
I have found myself called on, more than once, to
repel accusations against our morality of a very
serious nature ; accusations that we do not deserve ;
and my impression certainly is, that the American
people, so far as they are at all the subjects of ob-
i servation, enjoy any thing but a good name, in
¦ Europe. Struck by this flagrant contradiction, I
determined to practice on my feraale friend, a little;
a plan that was successfully carried out, as follows.
Avoiding all allusion to politics, so as to throw
her completely off her guard, I took, eare to intro
duce such subjects, as should provoke comparisons
on other points, between France and Araerica ; or
rather, between the latter and Europe generally.
As our discussions had a tinge of philosophy, neither
being very bigoted, and both preserving perfect
good humour, the plot succeeded admirably. After
a little time, I took occasion to fortify one of my ar
guments by a slight allusion to the peculiar virtues
of the American people. She was too well-bred to
controvert this sort of reasoning at first, until, push
ing the point, little by little, she vvas so far provoked
as to exclaim, " you lay great stress on the exclusive
virtues of your countrymen. Monsieur, but I have
yet to learn tl^at they are so much better than the
rest of the world!" "I beg a thousand pardons,
Madame, if I have been led into an indiscretion on

PRANCE. 197
this delicate subject ; but you must ascribe my error
to your own eloquence, which, contrary to my pre
vious convictions, had persuaded me into the belief
that we have some peculiar unction of this nature,
that is unknown in Europe. I now begin to see the
mistake, and to understand que nous autres Ami-
ricains, are to be considered virtuous, only where
there is question of the practicability of maintaining
a republican form of government, and, as great
rogues on all other occasions." Madame de 
was wise enough, and good tempered enough, to
laugh at the artifice, and the allusion to " nous autres
vertueux," has got to be a mot d'ordre vvith us. The
truth is, that the question of politics is exclusively
one of personal advantages, with a vast majority of
the people of Europe ; one set selfishly struggling
to maintain their present superiority, while the other
is as selfishly, and in some respects as blindly, striv
ing to overturn all that is established, in order to be
benefited by the scramble that will follow; and re
ligion, justice, philosophy, and practical good, are al
most equally remote from the motives of both parties.
From reflecting on such subjects, I have been led
into a consideration of the influence of political in
stitutions on the more ordinary relations of society.
If the conclusions are generally in favour of popular
rights, and what is called freedom, there can be little
question that there are one or two weak spots, on
our side of the question, tbat it were better did they
not exist Let us, for the humour of tbe thing, look
a little into these points. 17*

198

PRANCE.

It is a common remark of all foreigners, that there
is- less social freedom in America than in most other
countries of Christendom. By social freedom, I do
not mean as relates to the mere forms of society, for
in these we are loose rather than rigid ; but that one
is less a master of his own acts, his own mode of
living, his own time, being more rigidly araenable
to public opinion, on all these points, than else
where. The fact, I believe, out of all question, is
true ; at least it appears to be true, so far as my know
ledge of our own, and of other countries extends.
Admitting then the fact to be so, it is worth wbile
to throw away a moment in inquiring into the con
sequent good and evil of such a state of things, as-
well as in looking for the causes. It is always a
great assistant in our study of others, to have some
tolerable notions of ourselves.
' The control of public opinion has, beyond ques--
tion, a salutary influence on the moral exterior of a
country. The great indifference which the French,
and indeed the higher classes of most European
countries, manifest to the inanner of living of the
members of their different circles, so long as certain
appearances are respected, may do no affirmative
good to society, though at the same time it does less
positive harm than you may be disposed to imagine.
But this is not the point to which I now allude,
Europeans maintain that, in things, innocent in
themselves, but vvhich are closely connected with
tbe independence of action and tastes of men, the
American is less his own master than the inhabitant

PRANCE. 199
of this part of the world ; and this is the fact I, for
one, feel it necessary to concede to them. There
can be no doubt that society meddles much more
with the private affairs of individuals, and affairs too,
over which it properly has no control, in America
than in Europe, I will illustrate what I mean, by
an example.
About twenty years since there lived in one of
our shire-towns a family, which, in its different
branches, had numerous female descendants, then all
children. A member of this family, one day, went
to a respectable clergyman, his friend, and told him
that he and his connections had so many female
children, vvhom it vvas time to think of educating,
that they had hit upon the plan of engaging some
suitable instructress, with the intention of educatina
their girls all together, both for economy's sake
and for convenience, as well as that such near con
nections might be brought up in a way to strengfhen
the family tie. The clergyman warmly remon
strated against the scheme, assuring his friend,
that the community looxild not bear it, and that
it would infallibly make enemies! This was the
feeling of a very sensible man, and of an experi
enced divine, and I was myself the person making
the application. This is religiously true, and I have
often thought of the circumstance since, equally with
astonishment and horror.
There are doubtless many parts of America, even,
where such an interference vvith the private arrange
ment of a family would not be dreamt of; but there

200 PRANCE.
is a large portion of the country in which the feel
ing described, by my clerical friend, does prevail.
Most observers would refer all this to democracy,
but I do not. The interference would not proceed
from- the humblest classes of society at all, but from
those nearer one's own level. It would proceed from
a determination to bring all within the jurisdiction
of a common opinion, or to be revenged on delin
quents, by envy, hatred, and all uncharitableness.
There is no disposition in America, to let one live
as he or she may happen to please to live; the
public choosing, though always in its proper circle,
to interfere, and say how you must live. It is folly
to call this by terins as sounding as republicanism or
democracy, vvhich inculcate the doctrine of as much
personal freedom as at all comports with the public
good. He is, indeed, a most sneaking democrat, who
finds it necessary to consult a neighbourhood before
he can indulge his innocent habits and tastes. It is
sheer meddling, and no casuistry can fitly give it
any other name.
A portion of this troublesome qualify is owing,
beyond question, to our provincial habits, which are
always the most exacting ; but I think a large por
tion, perhaps I ought to say the largest, is inherited
from those pious but exaggerated religionists who
first peopled the country. These sectaries extended
the discipline of the church to all the concerns of
life. Nothing was too minute to escape their cog
nizance, and a parish sat in judgment on the affairs
of all who belonged to it One may easily live so

PRANCE, 201
long in the condition of society that such an origin
has entailed on us, as fo be quite unconscious of its
peculiarities, but I think they can hardly escape one
whp has lived much beyond ifs influence.
Here, perhaps, the fault is to be found in the op
posite extreme, though there are so many virtues
consequent on independence of thought and inde
pendence of habits, that I am not sure the good does
not equal the evil. There is no canting, and verv'
little hypocrisy, in mere matters of habits, in France;
and this, at once, is abridging tvv^o of our own most
besetting vices. Still the French can hardly be
called a very original people. Convention ties them
down mercilessly in a great many things. They
are less under the influence of mere fashion, in their
intercourse, it is true, than some of fheir neighbours,
reason and taste exercising more influence over such
matters, in France, than almost any where else; but
they are mannerists in the fine arts, in their litera
ture, and in all their feelings, if one can use such an
expression, The gross exaggerations of the romantic
school that is, just now, attracting so much atten
tion, are merely an effort to liberate themselves.
But, after allowing for the extreme ignorance of the
substratum of society, which, in France, although it
forms so large a portion of the whole, should no
more be taken into the account in speaking of the
national qualities, than the slaves of Carolina should
be included in an estimate of the character of the
Carolinians, there is, notwithstanding this manner
ism, a personal independence here, that certainly

202 PRANCE,
does not exist with us. The American goes and
comes when he pleases, and no one asks for a pass
port ; he has his political rights ;: talks of his liber
ty ; swaggers of his advantages, and yet does less
as he pleases, even in innocent things, than the
Frenchman. His neighbours form a police, and a
most troublesome and impertinent one it sometimes
proves to be. It is also unjust, for having no legal
means of arriving at facts, it half the time condemns
on conjecture.
The truth is, our institutions are the result of
facts and accidents, and, being, necessarily an imi
tative people, there are often gross inconsistencies
between our professions and our practice ; whereas
the French have had to struggle through their ap
prenticeship in political rights, by the force of dis
cussions and appeals to reason, and theory is still
too imporfant to be entirely overlooked. Perhaps
no people understand the true private characters of
their public men so little as the Americans, or any
people so vvell as the French. I have never known
a distinguished American, in whom it did not ap
pear to me that his popular character was a false
one ; or a distinguished Frenchman whom the public
did not appear to estimate very nearly as he de
served to be. Even Napoleon, necessary as he is
to the national pride, and dazzling as is all military
renown, seems to me to be much more justly appre-^
ciated at Paris, than any where else. The practice
of meddling can lead to no other result They who
wish to stand particularly fair before the public, re-

FRANCE. 203
sort to deception, and I have heard a man of consi
derable notoriety in America confess that he was
so much afraid of popular comments, that he always
acted as if an enemy were looking over his shoulder.
With us, no one scruples to believe that he knows
all about a public man, even to the nicest traits of
his character ; all talk of him, as none should talk
but those vvho are in his intimacy, and, what be
tween hypocrisy on his part — an hypocrisy to
wbich he is in some measure driven by the officious
interference with his most private interests — and
exaggerations and inventions, that ingenious tyrant,
public opinion, comes as near the truth as a fortune
teller who is venturing his prediction in behalf of a
stranger.* In France the right of the citizen to discuss all
public matters is not only allowed but felt. In
* I can give no better illustration of the state of dependence to
which men are reduced in America, by this spirit of meddling,
than by the foUowing anecdote. A friend was about to build a
new town house, and letting me know the situation, be asked my
advice as to the mode of construction. The inconveniences of an
ordinary American town house were pointed out to him, — its un
fitness for the general state of society, the climate, the other do
mestic arrangements, and its ugliness. All were admitted, and
the plan proposed in place of the old style of building was liked,
bnt still my friend hesitated about adopting it. " It will be a gen
teeler and a better looking house than the other." " Agreed."
" It wili be really more convenient." " 1 think so, too." " It
will be cheaper." " Of that there is no question." " Then why
not adopt it V " To own the truth, I dare not build (UJferently
from my neighbours .'"

204 PRANCE,
America it is not felt, thoagh it is allowed. A ho
mage must be paid to the public, by assuming the
disguise of acting as a public agent, in America ;
whereas, in France, individuals address their coun
trymen, daily, under their own signatures. The
impersonality of we, and the character of public
journalists, is almost indispensable, with us, to im
punity, although the mask can deceive no one, the
journalists noforiou.sly making their prints subser
vient to their private passions and private interests,
and being impersonal only in the use of the impe
rial pronoun. The representative, too, in America,
is privileged to teach, in virtue of his collective cha
racter, by the very men who hold the extreme and
untenable doctrine of instruction ! It is the fashion
to say in America, that the people xvill rule ; it
would be nearer the truth, however, to say, the peo
ple will seem to rule.
I think that these distinctions are facts, and they
certainly lead to odd reflections. We are so pecu
liarly situated as a nation, that one is not to venture
on conclusions too hastily, A great deal is to be
imputed to our provincial habits ; much to the cir
cumstance of the disproportion between surface and
population, which, by scattering the well-bred and
intelligent, a class at all times relatively small,
serves greatly to lessen their influence in imparting
a tone to society ; something to the inquisitorial
habits of our pious forefathers, who appear to have
thought that the charities were nought, and, in the
very teeth of revelation, that Heaven was io be

FRANCE. 205
stormed by impertinences ; while a good deal is to
be conceded to the nature of a popular government
whose essential spirit is to create a predominant
opinion, before which, right or wrong, all must bow
until its cycle shall be completed. Thus it is, that
vve are always, more or less, under one of two false
influences, the blow or its rebound ; action that is
seldom quite right, or reaction that is always wrong ;
sinning heedlessly, or repenting to fanaticism. The
surest process in the world, of " riding on to for
tune" in America, is to get seated astride a lively
"reaction," which is rather more likely to carry
vvith it a unanimous sentiment, than even the error
to which it owesi its birth.
As much of this weakness as is inseparable from
humanity exists here, but it exists under so many
modifying circumstances, as, in this particular, to
render France as unlike America as well may be.
Liberty is not always pure philosophy nor strict
justice, and yet, as a whole, it is favourable to both.
These are the spots on the political sun. To the
eye which seeks only the radiance and warmth of
the orb, they are lost, but he who studies it, with
calmness and impartiality, sees them, too plainly, to
be in any doubt of their existence.

Vol, II, 18

206 FRANCE,

LETTER XI,
To James E, De Kay, M, D,
Although we have not been without our meta
physical hallucinations in America, I do not re
member to have heard that " animal magnetisra"
was ever in vogue araong us. A people who are
not very quick to feel the poetry of sentiment, may
well be supposed exempt from the delusions of a
doctrine which comprehends the very poetry of
physics. Still, as the subject is'not without inter
est, and as chance has put me in the way of per
sonally inquiring into this fanciful system, I intend,
in this letter, to give you an account of what I
have both heard and seen,
I shall premise by saying that I rank " animal .
magnetism" among the " arts" rather than among
the "sciences." Of its theory I have no very clear
notion, nor do I believe that I am at all peculiar in
my ignorance; but until vve can say what is that other
" magnetism" to which the world is indisputably
so m.uch indebted for its knowledge and comforts,
I do not know that we are to repudiate this, merel}"^
because we do not understand it. Magnetism is
an unseen and inexplicable influence, and that is
" metallic" while this is " animal ;" voild, tout.
On the whole, it may be fairly mooted which most

•• FRANCE, 207
controls the world, the animal or the metallic in
fluence. To deal gravely with a subject that, at least, baf
fles our comprehension, there are certainly very
extraordinary things related of animal magnetism,
and apparently on pretty good testimony. Take,
for instance, a single fact M. Jules Cloquet is
one of the cleverest practitioners of Paris, and is
in extensive business. This gentleman publicly
makes the following statement. I write it from
memory, but have heard it and read it so often, that
I do not think my account will contain any essen
tial error.
A woman, who was subject to the magnetic in
fluence, or who was what is commonly called a
somnambule, had a cancer in the breast M.
 , one of the principal magnetisers of Paris,
and from whom, among others, I have had an ac
count of the whole affair, was engaged to magnetise
this woman, while M. Cloquet operated on the dis
eased part. The patient was put asleep, or rather
into the magnetic trance, for it can scarcely be called
sleep, and the cancer was extracted, without the wo
man's manifesting the least terror, or the slight
est sense of pain! To the truth of the substance
of this account, M. Cloquet, who does not pretend
to explain the reason, nor profess to belong, in any
way, to the school, simply testifies. He says that
he had such a patient, and that she was operated
on, virtually, as I have told you. Such a state
ment, coming from so high a source, induced the

208 FRANCE.
Academy, which is certainly not altogether com
posed of magnetisers, but many of whose members
are quite animal enough to comprehend the matter,
to refer the subject to a special committee, which
committee, I believe, was comprised of very clever
men. The substance of their report was pretty
much what might have been anticipated. They
said that the subject was inexplicable, and that
" animal magnetism" could not be brought within
the limits of any known laws of nature. They
might have said the same thing of the comets ! In
both cases we have facts, with a few established
consequences, but are totally without elementary
causes. Animal magnetism is clearly one of three things:
it is what it pretends to be, an unexplained and as
yet incomprehensible physical influence ; it is de
lusion; or it is absolute fraud,
A young countryman of ours, having made the
acquaintance of M. C  , professionally, and
being full of the subject, I have so far listened to
his entreaties as to inquire personally into the facts,
a step I might not have otherwise been induced to
take. I shall now proceed to the history of my own
experience in this inexplicable mystery. We
found M, C  buried in the heart of Paris, in
one of those vast old hotels, which give to this
town the air of generations of houses, commencing
with the quaint and noble of the sixteenth century,
and ending with the more fashionable pavilion of

FRANCE. 209
our own times. His cabinet looked upon a small
garden, a pleasant transition from the animal with
in to the vegetable without But one meets vvith
gardens, with their verdure and shrubbery and
trees, in the most unexpected manner, in this
crowded tovvn.
M. C  receiv^ed us politely, and we found
with him one of his somnambules, but as she had
just come out of a trance, we were told she could
not be put asleep again that morning. Our first
visit therefore went no farther than some discourse
on the subject of " animal magnetism," and a little
practical by-play, that shall be related in its place,
M, C  did not attempt ascending to first
principles, in his explanations. Animal magnetism
was animal magnetism — it was a fact, and not a
theory. Its effects were not to be doubted ; they
depended on testimony of sufficient validity to dis
pose of anj' mere question of authenticity. All
that he attempted was hypothesis, which he invited
us to controvert He might as well have desired
me to demonstrate that the sun is not a carbuncle.
On the inodus operandi, and the powers of his art,
the doctor was more explicit There were a great
many gradations in quality in his somnambules,
some being better and some worse ; and there was
also a good deal of difference in the intensity of
the magnetisers. It appears to be settled that the
best somnambules are females, and the best mag
netisers males, though the law is not absolute. I
was flattered with being, by nature, a first-rate mag-
18*

210 PRANCE.
netiser, and the doctor had not the smallest doubt
of his ability to put me to sleep; an ability, so far
as his theory went, I thought it was likely enough
he might possess, thougb I greatly questioned his
physical means.
I suppose it is primd facie evidence of credu
lity, to take the trouble to inquire into the subject
at all ; at any rate, it was quite evident I was set
down as a good subject, from the moment of my
appearance. Even the somnambule testified to
this, though she would not then consent to be put
into a trance in order to give her opinion its mys
tical sanction.
The powers of a really good somnambule are
certainly of a very respectable class. If a lock of
hair be cut from the head of an invalid, and sent a
hundred leagues from the provinces, such a som
nambule, properly magnetised, becomes gifted
witb the faculty to discover the seat of the disease,
however latent; and, by practice, she may even
prescribe the remedy, though this is usually done
by a physician, like M. C  , who is regularly
graduated. The somnambule is, properly, only
versed in pathology, any other skill she may dis
cover being either a consequence of this knowledge,
or the effects of observation and experience. The
powers of a somnambule extend equally to the
morale as well as to the physique. In this respect
a phrenologist is a pure quack in comparison with
a lady in a trance. The latter has no dependence
on bumps and organs, but she looks right through

FRANCE. 211
you, at a glance, and pronounces ex cathedra
whether you are a rogue, or an honest man ; a well
disposed, or an evil disposed child of Adara, In
this particular, it is an invaluable science, and it is
a thousand pities all j'oung women were not mag
netised before they pronounce the fatal vows, as
not a few of them would probably wake up, and
cheat the parson of his fee. Our sex is difficult to
be put asleep, and are so obstinate, that I doubt if
they would be satisfied vvith a shadowy glimpse of
the temper and dispositions of their mistresses.
You may possibly think I am trifling with you,
and that I invent as I write. On the contrary, I
have not related one half of the miraculous powers
which being magnetised imparts to the thoroughly
good somnambule, as they vvere related to me by
M. C  , and vouched for by four or five of his
' patients who vvere present, as well as by my own
companion, a firm believer in the doctrine. M.
C  added that somnambules improve by prac
tice, as well as magnetisers, and that he has such
command over one ofhis somnambules that he can
put her to sleep, by a simple effort of the vvill, al
though she may be in her own apartment, in an
adjoining street He related the story of M. Clo
quet and the cancer, with great unction, and asked
me what I thought of that ? Upon my word, I did
not very well know what I did think of it, unless
it was to think it very queer. It appeared to me
tobe altogether extraordinary, especially as I knew

212

PRANCE.

M, Cloquet to be a man of talents, and believe him
to be honest
By this time I was nearly magnetised with
second-hand facts ; and I became a little urgent for
one or two that were visible to my own senses, I
was promised more testimony, and a sight of the
process of magnetising some water that a patient
was to drink. This patient was present ; the very
type of credulity. He listened to every thing that
fell from M. C  with a gusto and a faith that
might have worked miracles truly, had it been of
the right sort, now and then turning his good-
humoured marvel-eating eyes on me, as much as to
say, "what do you think of that, now ?" My com
panion told me, in English, he was a man of good
estate, and of proved philanthropy, who had no
more doubt of the efficacy of animal magnetisra
than I had of my being in the room. He had
brought with him two bottles of water, and these
M. C  magnetised, by pointing his fingers at
their orifices, rubbing their sides, and ringing his
hands about them, as if washing them, in order to
disengage the subtle fluid that was to impart to
them their healing properties, for the patient drank
no other water.
Presently a young man came in, of a good coun
tenance, and certainly of a very respectable exte
rior. As the somnambule had left us, and this per
son could not consult ber, which was his avowed
intention in coming, M. C  proposed to let me
see his own power as a magnetiser, in an experi-

FRANCE. 213
ment on this patient The young man consenting,
the parties were soon prepared. M. C  began
by telling me, that he would, by a transfusion of
his will, into the body of the patient, compel him
to sit still, although his own desire should be to
rise. In order to achieve this, he placed himself
before the young man, and threw off the fluid from
his fingers' ends, which he kept in a cluster, by
constant forward gestures of the arms. Sometimes
he held the fingers pointed at some particular part
of the body, the heart in preference, though the
brain would have been more poetical. The young
man certainly did not rise ; neither did I, nor any
one else in the room. As this experiment appeared
so satisfactory to every body else, I was almost
ashamed to distrust it, easy as it really seemed to
sit still, with a man flourishing his fingers before
one's eyes.
I proposed that the doctor should see if he could
pin me down, in this invisible fashion, but this he
frankly admitted he did not think he could do so
soon, though he foresaw I would become a firm
believer in the existence of animal magnetisra, ere
long, and a public supporter of its wonders. In
time, he did not doubt his power to work the same
miracle on me. He then varied the experiment, by
making the young man raise his arm contrary to
his wishes. The sarae process was repeated, all
the fiuid being directed at the arra, which, after a
severe trial, was slowly raised, until it pointed for
ward like a finger-board. After this, he was made

214

FRANCE,

to stand up, in spite of himself This was the
hardest affair of all, the doctor throwing off the
fluid inhandsful; the magnetized refusing for some
time to budge an inch. At length he suddenly
stood up, and seemed to draw his breath like one
who finally yields after a strong trial of his physi
cal force.
Nothing, certainly, is easier than for a young
man to sit still and to stand up, pretending that he
strives internally to resist the desire to do either.
Still if you ask me, if I think this was simple col
lusion, I hardly know what to answer. It is the
easiest solution, and yet it did not strike me as
being the true one. I never saw less of the appear
ance of deception than in the air ofthis young man ;
his face, deportment, and acts being those ofa per
son in sober earnest He made no professions, was
extremely modest, and really seemed anxious not
to have the experiments tried. To my question,
if he resisted the will of M. C  , he answered,
as much as he could, and said, that when he rose,
he did it because he could not help himself I
confess myself disposed to believe in his sincerity
and good faith.
I had somewhat of a reputation, when a boy, of
effecting my objects, by pure dint of teasing.
Many is the shilling I have abstracted, in this way,
from my mother's purse, who, constantly affirm
ed, that it was sore against her will. Now, it
seems to me, that M. C  , may, very easily,
have acquired so much command over a credulous

PRANCE. 215
youth, as to cause him to do things of this nature,
as he man}?^ fancy, against his ovvn will. Signs
are the substitutes of words, vvhich of themselves
are purely conventional, and, in his case, the flou
rishing of the fingers are merely so many conti
nued solicitations to get up. When the confirma
tion of a theory that is already received, and which
is doubly attractive by its mysticisms, depends, in
some measure, on the result, the experiment be
comes still less likely to fail. It is stripping me
of all pretensions to be a pbysiognomi.st, to believe
that this young man vvas not honest; and I prefer
getting over the difficulty in this way. As to the
operator himself, he might, or might not be fhe
dupe of his own powers. If the former, I think it
wouid, on the whole, render him the more likely
to succeed with his subject.
After a visit or two, I vvas considered suffi-
cientlj"- advanced to be scientifically examined.
One ofthe very best ofthe somnambules was era
ployed on the occasion, and every thing being in
readiness, she was put to sleep. There was a faith-
shaking brevity in this process, which, to say the
least, if not fraudulent, was ill-judged. The doc
tor merely pointed his fingers at her once or twice,
looking her intently in the eye, and the woman
gaped ; this success was followed up by a flourish
or two of the hand, and the woman slept ; or was
magnetised. Now this was hardly sufficient even
for my theory ofthe influence of the imagination.
One could have wished the somnambule had not

216 PRANCE.
been so drowsy. But there she was, with her eyes
shut, giving an occasional, hearty gape and the
doctor declared her perfectly fit for service. She
retained her seat, however, moved her body,
laughed, talked, and, in all other respects, seemed
to be precisely the woman she was before he
pointed his fingers at her. At first, I felt a dispo
sition to manifest that more parade was indispen
sable to humbugging me (who am not the Pope,
you will remember,) but reflection said, the wisest
way was to affect a little faith, as the surest means
of securing more experiments. Moreover, I am
not certain, on the whole, that the simplicity of the
operation is not in favour of the sincerity of the
parties, for, were deception deliberately planned,
it would be apt to call in the aid of more raura
raery, and this, particularly, in a case in which
there was probably a stronger desire than usual to
raake a convert.
I gave the somnambule my hand, and the
examination was commenced, forthwith, I was
first physically inspected, and the report was
highly favourable to the condition of the animal,
I had the satisfaction of hearing from this high
authority, that the whole machinery of the mere
material man was in perfect order, every thing
working well and in its proper place. This was a
little contrary to my own experience, it is true,
but as I had no means of seeing the interior clock
work of my own frame, like the somnambule,
had I ventured to raise a doubt, it would have

PRANCE. 217
been overturned by the evidence of one who had
ocular proofs of what she said, and should, beyond
question, have incurred the ridicule of being
accounted a malade imaginaire.
Modesty must prevent my recording all that
this obliging somnambule testified to, on the sub
ject of my morale. Her account of the matter was
highly satisfactory, and I must have been made of
stone, not to credit her and her mysticisms, M.
C  looked at me, again and again, with an air of
triumph, as much as to say, " what do you think of
all that now ; are you not really the noble, honest,
virtuous, disinterested, brave creature, sbe has
described you to he?" I can assure you, it
required no little self-denial to abstain from be
coming a convert to the whole system. As it is
very unusual to find a man with a good bead, who
has not a secret inclination to believe in phreno
logy, so does he, wbo is thus purified by the scru
tiny of animal magnetism, feel disposed to credit
its mysterious influence. Certainly, I might have
gaped, in my turn, and commenced the moral and
physical dissection of the somnambule, whose
hand I held, and no one could have given me the
lie, for nothing is easier than to speak ex cathedrd,
when one has a raonopoly of knowledge.
Encouraged hy this flattering account of my own
condition, I begged hard for some more indisputable
evidence of the truth of the theory, I carried a stop
watch, and as I had taken an opportunity to push
the stop on entering the room, I was particularly de-
VoL, II 19

218 PRANCE.
sirous that the somnambule should tell me the time
indicated by its hands, a common test of their powera
I had been told ; but to this M, C  objected, re
ferring every thing of this tangible nature to future
occasions. In fine, I could get nothing during three
or four visits, but pretty positive assertions, expres
sions of wonder that I should affect to doubt what
had been so often and so triuraphantly proved to
others, accounts physical and moral, like the one of
which I had been the subject myself, and which did
not adrait of either confirmation or refutation, and
often repeated declarations, that the time was not
distant when, in my own unworthy person, I was to
become one of the most powerful magnetisers of tbe
age. All this did very well to amuse, but very little
towards convincing ; and I was finally promised, that
at my next visit, the somnambule would be pre
pared to show her powers, in a way that would not
admit of cavil,
I went to the appointed meeting with a good deal
of curiosity to learn the issue, and a resolution not to
be easily duped. When I presented rayself, (I be
lieve it was the fourth visit,) M, C  gave me a
sealed paper, that was not to be opened for several
weeks, and which, he said, contained the prediction
of an event that was to occur to myself, between the
present time and the day set for the opening of the
letter, and which the somnambule had been enabled
to foresee, in consequence of the interest she took
in me and mine. With this sealed revelation, then,
I was obliged to depart, to await the allotted hour.

FRANCE. 219
M. C •  had promised to be present at the
opening ofthe seal, but he did not appear, I dealt
fairly by him, and the cover was first formally re
moved, on the evening of the day endorsed on its
back, as the one when it would be permitted. The
somnambule had foretold thaf, in the intervening
time, one of my children would be seriously ill, that
I should magnetise it, and that the child would re
cover. Nothing of the sort had occurred. No one
of the family had been ill, I had not attempted to
magnetise any one, or even dreamed of it, and of
course, the vvhoie prediction was a complete failure.
To do M, C  justice, when be heard the re
sult, he manifested surprise rather than any less con
fident feeling, I was closely questioned, first, as to
whether neither of the family had not been ill, and
secondly, whether I had not felt a secret desire to
magnetise any one of them. To all these interro
gatories, truth compelled me to give unqualified ne
gatives, I had bardly thought of the subject during
the whole time. As this interview took place at my
own house, politeness compelled me to pass the
raatter off as lightly as possible. There happened
to be several ladies present, however, the evening
M, C  called, and, thinking the occasion a good
one for him to try his powers on some one besides
his regular somnambules, I invited him to magne
tise any one of the party who might be disposed to
submit to the process. To this he made no difficulty,
choosing an English female friend as the subject of
the experiment. The lady in question raised no

220 FRANCE.
objection, and the doctor commenced with great zeal,
and With every appearance of faith in his own
powers. No effect, however, was produced on this
lady, or on one or two more of the party, all of
whom obstinately refused even to gape, M, C 
gave the matter up, and soon after took bis leave,
and thus closed my personal connection with animal
magnetism. If you ask me for the conclusions I have drawn
from these facts, I shall he obliged to tell you, that
I am in doubt how far the parties concerned deceived
others, and how far they deceived themselves. It
is difficult to discredit entirely all the testimony that
has been adduced in behalf of this power ; and one
is consequently obliged to refer all the established
facts to the influence of the imagination. Then tes
timony itself is but a precarious thing, different eyes
Seeing the sarae objects in very different lights.
Let us take ventriloquism as a parallel case to that
of animal magnetism. Ventriloquism is neither more
nor less than imitation ; and yet, aided by the ima
gination, perhaps a majority of those who know any
thing ahout it, are inclined to believe there is really
such a faculty as that which is vulgarly attributed to
ventriloquism. The whole art of the ventriloquist
consists in making such sounds as would be produced
by a person, or thing, that should be actually in the
circumstances that he wishes to represent. Let there
be, for instance, five or six sitting around a table, in
a room with a single door ; a ventriloquist among
them, wishes to mislead his companions, by making

FRANCIS, 221
them believe that another is applying for admission.
All he has to do is to make a sound similar to that
vvhich a person on the outside would make, in ap
plying for admission, " Open the door, and let me
in," uttered in such a manner, would deceive any
one who vvas not prepared for the experiment, sim
ply because men do not ordinarily make such sounds
when sitting near each other, because the words
themselves would draw the attention to the door,
and because the sounds would be suited to the ficti
tious application, H there were iwo doors, the person
first moving his head towards one of them, would
probably give a direction to the imaginations of all
the others; unless, indeed, fhe ventriloquist himself,
by his word.s, or his own movements, as is usually
the case, should assume the initiative. Every ven
triloquist takes especial care to direct the imagina
tion of his listener to fhe desired point, either by
what he says, by some gesture, or by some move
ment Such, undeniably, is the fact in regard to
ventriloquisra ; for we know enough of the philo
sophy of sound, to be certain it can be nothing else.
One of the best ventriloquists of this age, after affect
ing to resist this explanation of his mystery, candid
ly admitted to me, on finding that I stuck to the
principles of reason, that all his art consisted of no
more than a power to control the imagination by
imitation, supported occasionally by acting. And,
yet I once saw this man literally turn a whole family
out of doors, in a storm, hy an exercise of his art
On that occasion, so complete was thc delusion, that
19*

222 PRANCE,
the good people of the house actually fancied sounds
which came from the ventriloquist, came from a
point considerably beyond the place where they
stood, and on the side opposite to that occupied by
the speaker, although they stdod at the top of a flight
of steps, and he stood at the bottom. All tbis time,
the sounds appeared to me to corae from the place
whence, by the laws of sound, except in cases of re
verberation, and of the influence of the imagination,
they only could appear to come ; or, in other words,
from the mouth of the ventriloquist himself Now,
' if the imagination can effect so much, even in crowd
ed assemblies, composed of people of all degrees of
credulity, intelligence, and strength of mind, and
when all are prepared, in part at least, for the delu
sion, what raay it not be expected to produce on
minds peculiarly suited to yield to its influence, and
this, too, when the prodigy take the captivating
form of mysticism and miracles.
In tbe case of the patient of M, Cloquet, we are
reduced to the alternatives of denying the testimony,
of believing that recourse was had to drugs, of re
ferring all to the force of the imagination, or of ad
mitting tbe truth of the doctrine of animal magne
tism. The character of M, Cloquet, and the mo
tiveless folly of such a course, compel us to reject
the first ; the second can hardly be believed, as the
patient had not the appearance of being drugged,
and the possession of such a secret would be almost
as valuahle as the art in question itself The doc
trine of animal magnetism we cannot receive, on ac-

rn.o.xvL'Xj.

823

count of the want of linifornity and exactitude in
the experiments, and I think, we are fairly driven
to take refuge in the force of the imagination. Be
fore doing this, however, we ought to make consi
derable allowances for exaggerations, colouring, and
the different manner in which men are apt to regard
the same thing. My young American friend, who
did believe in animal magnetism, viewed several of
the facts I have related with eyes more favourable
than mine, although even he was compelled to allow
that M, C  had much greater success with him
self, than with your humble servant !

224 FRANCE,

LETTER XIL

To Richard Cooper, Esquire, Cooperstown,
We entered France in July, 1826, and having
remained in and about the French capital, until
February, 1828, we thought it time to change the
scene, Paris is effectually the centre of Europe,
and a residence in it, is the best training an Ameri
can can have, previously to visiting the other parts
of that quarter of the world, Ifs civilization, usages,
and facilities, takes the edge off of our provincial
adniiration, removes prejudices, and prepares the
mind to receive new impressions, with more dis
crimination and tact, I would advise all our travel
lers to make this their first stage, and then to visit
the north of Europe, before crossing the Alps, or the
Pyrenees. Most people, however, hurry into the
south, wifh a view to obtain the best as soon as pos
sible, but it is with this, as in most of our enjoyments,
a too eager indulgence defeats its own aim.
We had decided to visit London, where the sea
son, or winter, would soon commence. The neces
sary arrangements were raade, and we sent round
our cards of p, p. c, and obtained passports. On
the very day we were to quit Paris, an American

FRANCE, 225
friend wrote me a note to say that a young connex
ion of his was desirous of going to London, and
begged a place for her in my carriage. It is, I be
lieve, a peculiar and a respectable trait, in the na
tional character, that we so seldom hesitate about
asking, or acceding to, favours of this sort When
ever vvoman is concerned, our ovvn sex yield, and
usually without murmuring. At all events, it was
so with W  , who cheerfully gave up his seat in
the carriage to Miss  , in order to take one in
the coupi of the diligence. The notice vvas so short,
and the hour so late, that there was no time to get a
passport for hira, and, as be was included in raine, I
was corapelled to run the risk of sending him to the
frontiers without one, I was a consul at the time :
a titular one, as to duties, but, in reality as much of
a consul, as if I had ever visited my consulate,*
The only official paper I possessed, in connection
with the office, the comraission and exequatur ex-
* There being so strong a propensity to cavil at American facts,
lest this book might fall into European hands, it may be well to
explain a little. The consulate of the writer was given to him ,
solely to avoid the appearance of going over to the enemy, during
his residence abroad. The situation conferred neither honour nor
profit, there being no salary, and, in his case, not fees enough to
meet the expense of the office opened by a deputy. The writer
suspects he was much too true to the character and principles of
his native country, to be voluntarily selected by its government as
the object of its honours or rewards, and it is certain he never
solicited either. There are favours, it would seem, that are re
served, in America, for those who most serve the interests of her
enemies ! A day of retribution will come.

226 PRANCE,
cepted, was a letter from the Prifet of the Rhone,
acknowledging the receipt of the latter. As this
was strictly a French document, I gave it to W  ,
as proof of my identity, accompanied by a brief
statement of the reasons why he was without a pass
port, begging the authorities, at Need, to let him pass
as far as the frontier, where I should be in season
to prove his character. This statement I signed as
consul, instructing W  to show it, if applied to
for a passport, and if the gensd'armes disavowed
me, to show the letter, by way of proving who I
was. The expedient was clumsy enough, but it was
the best that offered.
This arrangement settled, we got into the car
riage and took our leave of Paris, Before quitting
the town, however, I drove round to the rue d'An
jou, to take my leave of General La Fayette. This
illustrious man had been seriously ill, for some
weeks, and I had many doubts of my ever seeing
him again. He did not conceive himself to be in
any danger, however, but spoke of his speedy re
covery as a matter of course, and made an engage
ment with me for the ensuing summer. I bade him
adieu, with a melancholy apprehension thati should
never see him again.
We drove through the gates of Paris, amid the
dreariness of a winter's evening. You are to under
stand that every body quits London and Paris just
as night sets in, I cannot tell you whether this is
caprice, or whether it is a usage that bas arisen from
a wish to have the day in town, and a desire to re-

franci;, 227
lieve the monotony of roads so often travelled, by
sleep ; but so it is. We did not fall into the fashion,
simply because it is a fashion, but the days are so
short in February, in these high latitudes, that we
could not make our preparations earlier,
I bave little agreeable to say concerning the first
forty miles of the journey. It rained, and the roads
were, as usual, slippery with raud, and full of holes.
The o\d pavis are beginning to give way, however,
and we actually got a bit of terre within six posts
of Paris. This may be considered a triumph of
modern civilization ; for, whatever may be said and
sung in favour of Appian ways and Roman magni
ficence, a more cruel invention for travellers and
carriage wheels, than these pavis, was never invent
ed, A real Paris winter's day is the most uncom
fortable of all weather. If you walk, no device of
leather will prevent the moisture from penetrating
to your heart ; if you ride, it is but an affair of mud
and gras de Paris. We enjoyed all this until nine
at night, by which time we had got enough of it,
and in Beauvais, instead of giving the order b, la
poste, the postilion vvas told to go to an inn, A warm
supper and good beds put us all in good humour,
again. In putting into the mouth of Falstaff, the words
" shall I not take mine ease, in mine inn," Shak
speare may have meant no more than the drowsy
indolence of a glutton, but they recur to me with
peculiar satisfaction, whenever I get unbooted and
with a full stomach, before the warm fire of a hotel,

226 PRANCE.
after a fatiguing and chilling day's work. If any
man doubt whether Providence has not dealt jusdy
by all of us, in rendering our enjoyments dependent
on comparative rather than on positive benefits, let
him travel througb a dreary day, and take his com
fort at night, in a house where every thing is far
below his usual habits, and learn to appreciate the
truth. The sweetest sleep I have ever had, has been
caugbt on deck, in the middle watch, under a wet
/pee-jaeket, and with a coil of rope for a pillow.
Our next day's work carried us as far as Abbe
ville, in Picardy. Here we had a capital supper of
game, in a room that set us all shivering with good
honest cold. The beds, as usual, were excellent.
Tbe country throughout all this part of France is
tame and monotonous, witb wide reaches of grain-
lands, that are now brown and dreary, here and
there a wood, and the usual villages of dirty stone
houses. We passed a few hamlets, however, that
were more than coramonly rustic and picturesque,
and in which the dwellings seemed to be of mud,
and were thatched. As they were mostly very
irregular in form, the street winding through them
quite prettily, they would have been good in their
way, had there been any of the simple expedients
of taste to relieve their poverty. But tbe French
peasants of this province appear to think of little
else but their wants. There was occasionally a
venerable and generous old vine, clinging about tbe
doorj, however, to raise some faint impressions of
happiness.

pSance, 229
We passed through, or near, the field of Cressy.
By the aid of the books, we fancied we could trace
the positions of the two armies, hut it was little
more than very vague conjecture. There was a
mead, a breadth of field well adapted to cavalry, and
a wood. The river is a mere brook, and could have
offered but little protection, or resistance to the
passage of any species of troops, I saw no village,
and we may not have been within a mile of the real
field, after all. Quite likely no one knows where
it is. It is very natural that the precise sites of great
events should be lost, though our own history is so
fresh and full, that to us it is apt to appear extraor
dinary. In a conversation with a gentleman of the
Stanley family, lately, I asked him if Latham-house,
so celebrated for its siege in the civil wars, was still
in the possession of its ancient proprietors. I was
told it no longer existed, and that, until quite re
cently, its positive site was a disputed point, and
one whicb had only been settled by the discovery
of a hole in a rock, in which shot had heen cast
during the siege, and whicb hole was known to have
formerly been in a court. It is no wonder that
doubts exist as to the identity of Homer, or the po
sition of Troy,
We have anglicized the word Cressy, which the
French term Crity, or, to give it a true Picard or
thography, Crici. Most of the names that have
thds termination are said to be derived from this
province. Many of therti have become English,
and have undergone several changes ih the spelling.
Vol, il 20

230 prance.
Tracy, or Tracey ; de Courcy, or de Courcey ;
Montmorency, and Lacy or Lacey,. were once Tra-
ci, Courci, Montmorenci and Laci.* The French
get over the disgrace of their ancient defeats, very
ingeniously, by asserting that the English armies of
old were principally composed of Norman soldiers,
and that the chivalrous nobility whichperforraed such
wonders were of purely Norman blood. The latter
was probably more true than the former.
As we drew nearer to the coast, the country be
came more varied. Montreuil and Saumer are both
fortified, and one of these places, standing on an
abrupt, rocky eminence, is quite picturesque and
quaint. But we did not stop to look at any thing
very minutely, pushing forward, as fast as three
horses could draw us, for the end of our journey,
A league or two from Boulogne, we were met by a
half dozen mounted runners from the different inns,
eacb inviting us to give our custom to bis particular
employer. These fellows reminded rae of the wheat-
runners on the hill at Albany, though they were as
much more clamorous and earnest, as a noisy pro
testation-making Frenchman is more obtrusive than
* The celebrated Sir William Draper was once present when
the subject turned on the descent of families, and the changes
that names underwent. " Now my own is a proof of what I
say," he continued, with the intention to put an end to a dis
course that was getting to savour of family pride — " my family
being directly derived from King Pepin." " How do you make
that out. Sir William'!" "By self evident orthographical testi
mony — as you may see — Pepin, Pipkin, Napkin, Diaper, Draper."

PRANCE. 231
a shrewd, quiet calculating Yankee. We did not
stop in Boulogne, to try how true were the voluble
representations of these gentry, but, changing
horses at the post, went our way. The town seemed
full of English, and we gazed about us, with some
curiosity, at a place that has become so celebrated
by the great demonstration of Napoleon. There is
a high monument standing at no great distance from
the town, to commemorate one of his military pa
rades. The port is small and crowded, like most of
the harbours on both sides of the channel.
We had rain, and chills and darkness, for the
three or four posts that succeeded. The country
grew more and more tame, until after crossing an
extensive plain of moist meadow land, we passed
through the gate of Calais. I know no place that
will give you a more accurate notion of this cele
brated port than Powles Hook. It is, however, ne
cessary to enlarge the scale greatly, for Calais is a
town of some size, and the hommock on which it
stands, and the low land by which it is environed,
are much more considerable in extent than the spot
just named.
We drove to the inn that Sterne has immortal
ized, or, one at least that hears the same name, and
found Englisb comfort united with French cookery
and French taste. After all, I do not know why I
may not say French comforts, too ; for in many re
spects they surpass their island neighbours even in
this feature of domestic comfort. It is a comfort to
have a napkin even when eating a muffin ; to see

232 PRANCE.
one's self entire in a mirrpr, instead of edging tbe
form into it, or out of it, sideways ; to drink good
coffee'; to eat good cttelettes, and to be able to wear
the sarae linen for a day, without having it soiled.
The Bible says, " corafort me with flaggons or ap
ples," I really forget which, — ;and if either of these
is to be taken as authority, a cotelette may surely
be adraitted into the carte de conforts.
We found Calais a clean town, and possessing a
certain medium aspect, that was as much English as
French, The position is strong, though I was not
much struck with the strength of the works, Eng
land has no motive to wish to possess it, now that
conquest on the continent is neither expedient nor
possible. The port is good for nothing, in a warlike
sense, except to protect a privateer or two ; though
the use of steam will probably make it of more im
portance in any future war, than it has been for tbe
last two centuries.
We found W  safely arrived. At one of the
frontier towns he bad been asked for his passport,
and, in his fright, he gave the letter of the Prefet of
the Rhone, instead of the explanation I had so
cleverly devised. This letter commenced with the
words "Monsieur le Consul" in large letters, and
occupying, according to French etiquette, nearly
half of the first page. The gensdarme, a vieum
moustache, held his lantern up to read it, and see
ing this ominou? title, it would seem that Napoleon
and Marengo, and all the glories of the Consulate
arose in his imagination. He got no fnrther than

PRANCE, 233
those three words, which he pronounced aloud , and,
then folding the letter, he returned it with a pro
found bow, asking no further questions. As the
diligence drove on, W  heard him say — " ap
paremment vous avez un homme tres considira-
ble. Id, dedans. Monsieur le Conducteur." So
much for our fears, for passports, and for gen,s-
d' armes! We went to bed, with the intention of embark
ing for England in the morning.

END OP VOL. n.

3 9002

" 4 ,-